


Not So Anonymous After All

by hpjk_addict



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: Harry wants to have a family but his status attracts people who only want him for his name. After a long string of failed relationships he's desperate enough to carry a child himself and resorts to the services of a wizarding sperm bank, relying on its complete anonymity. However, he unwittingly becomes pregnant with Draco Malfoy's child and Draco finds out...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Harry/Draco Mpreg Fest 2015 to Prompt 65 by golden_snitch12: Harry avoids relationships because he thinks the wizards he's dated in the past only care about being with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He wants a family of his own and doesn’t want to wait for Mr Right so he goes to a sperm bank to obtain semen for his future child. Little does Harry know that Draco Malfoy has been selling his pureblood sperm to the bank in order to help make ends meet since the Ministry seized all the Malfoy assets after the war. He selects Draco’s sample without realizing the identity of the donor.

Harry entered a rather cluttered drawing-room, carrying a teapot, two cups, a milk jug and a platter with sandwiches on a large tray. Shaking his head with what could be described as a look of fond exasperation on his face, he took out his wand and made the tray hover in the air while he made room for it on the table that was covered with mountains of books, rolls of parchment and heaps of notes, completely obscuring Hermione from view. In fact, the only thing that gave away her presence was the feverish scratching of the quill that filled an otherwise silent room. Harry sighed and put the tray down, squeezing it among the towers of books he had parted to accommodate it.

«Hugo and Rose are asleep,» he said softly. However, her concentration had been so great, his voice still made Hermione jump as though he had come from behind and shouted 'Boo!' at the top of his voice right into her unsuspecting ear. She looked up from the report she had been scribbling with wild, dazed eyes as though she was surprised to find herself in the room with another human being. Harry didn't like to see her looking like that: her face was thin and haggard, there were dark circles under her eyes and a stupid bun at the nape of her neck that she took to wearing in order to keep her bushy hair at bay and that made her look at least ten years older than she actually was.

«W-what?»

«Hugo and Rose are asleep,» repeated Harry patiently, «and it's high time you had some rest to.»

Hermione sighed.

«I can't, Harry!» she said and as she did so she sounded close to hysterics, reminding him of the girl in their third year at Hogwarts who had bitten off more than she could possibly chew. «I have to finish this report by tomorrow or they'll eat me alive! They hate me,» she said miserably, «and I have to be prepared on every — single — point and have all the necessary figures and data at hand to prove my point or I won't have the guts to face them at all.»

«You won't have strength to stand upright if you don't have a good night's sleep, that's for sure,» remarked Harry, sitting down into an armchair that he had moved towards the table with a wave of his wand. «And as for not having the guts to face them — » he snorted « — you have never been lost for words before,» he reminded her. «Not when talking about something you believe in or feel particularly passionate about.»

Hermione gave him a grateful, watery smile.

«At least have some tea. Here, I also made some sandwiches,» said Harry coaxingly, moving the tray towards her. He was relieved when Hermione complied, sighing and tossing the report aside.

Harry knew why Hermione was on the point of a nervous breakdown and he wished there was anything he could do to help her. However, he also knew that until Hermione realised that she was wasting her time and energy on doing nothing more than fighting windmills there could be no help or relief. As it happened Hermione was once again fighting to change something that had been deeply routed within the pure-blood tradition of the wizarding community. The next day she was addressing a roomfull of people comprised of pure-blood witches and wizards whose families have been upholding one such tradition for many a century and who considered her an upstart and a nuisance they couldn't shut up no matter what.

Harry didn't think that they were right but he wasn't sure that Hermione was right either or that she could look at it from their point of view. In his opinion there was nothing bad about preserving certain traditions as long as they didn't interfere with the natural development of the wizarding community or lead to genocide of muggleborns or something like that. But there was no convincing Hermione that some of them could be left well alone and were not worth fighting against. It seemed that she had made it her goal to try and uproot every single pure-blood tradition that she came in contact with.

For example, at the moment she was trying to persuade the wizarding community to establish kindergardens and primary schools for young children so that they could get there basic non-magic education there or even send them to muggle kindergardens and primary schools so that they were raised side by side with muggle children and learned to treat them as equals. Naturally, the second part of her proposed bill caused much discontent and objection among the pure-blood population. Especially, they were indignant over a widely rumoured fact that Hermione intended for such attendance to be made mandatory.

However, among her triumphs was the establishment of Fair House-Elf Treatment Committee a few years ago that monitored the house-elves' physical and psychological state and even sentenced those who mistreated them within their household to a term in Azkaban, pure-blood or not. But one of her on-going campaigns still remained to secure their days-off and fair wages. At the moment each household containing house-elves was at liberty to decide on their own whether to pay them and give them holidays or not. However, they were obliged to pay a house-elf maintenance tax, part of each went to cover the expenses at St. Mungo's Hospital, where there was now a special ward for treating house-elf who suffered abuse at the hands of their owners.

«I just need a little more time,» she whispered over the brim of her cup in a voice that sounded close to desperation. Harry knew that she was talking to herself, because she wasn't looking at him. «It drives me absolutely insane that I've become so utterly bad at coping with my work at the Ministry. I used to do everything on time but now I'm always late because I have to take care of the children — »

Crack.

The cup Harry had been holding split in two and hit the carpeted floor, the table stood upon, with a muffled thud. Hermione gasped, looking up at him with a stricken expression and covered her mouth with her hands. Harry narrowed his eyes but was too angry to speak, his hands shook.

«Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I...»

There were tears in her eyes now. Tears that the very next moment spilled down her cheeks in two fat streams. Harry nodded, picked up the pieces of the cup with his wand, muttered 'Reparo' and managed to put it back on the saucer without breaking again. He knew that Hermione loved Rose and Hugo as any normal parent would but she tended to resent the need to spend her time taking care of them whenever she was under pressure. Harry, who had been yearning for a family of his own for the last ten years at least, could not hear it without getting furious. If only she knew what it was like not to have children when that was what you wanted more than anything, he thought bitterly, she would appreciate having them so much more!

Hermione, of course, knew how much Harry wanted to have children and it was the sign of how stressed she was that she had let something like that slip out in his presence. Harry was sure that her pity was the main reason why she would so often ask him round to babysit Hugo and Rose or put them to bed — like today — under the pretext that both she and Ron were too busy to possibly manage without his help. It was meant from the heart and out of desperation — because they didn't know what else they could do — and Harry was too absurdly happy to have such an opportunity to feel offended at being treated like a sad charity case. Besides, they liked to pretend that it was Harry who was really doing them a favour.

Of course, there was also Teddy Lupin — his godson. But he lived with Andromeda Tonks and was officially under her care. Harry regularly took him for the weekend, that they loved to spend in Muggle London, doing all the fun things that Harry hadn't got to do as a child. However, his relationship with Teddy's grandmother has never really recovered from their very first encounter, when Harry for a split second took her for her mad sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Harry still could not get rid of the suspicion that Andromeda blamed him for the death of her daughter and husband and, therefore, did not wish to be any more cordial to him than she had to be for Teddy's sake whenever he stopped by to pick him.

Earlier today Hermione had dropped by his cubicle at the Auror Headquarters on her way to pick up Rose and Hugo from the muggle kindergarden they attended, looking harrassed and irritated as she always did of late, and asked him to come round later, because she had still lots of work to do and Ron was stuck at the shop with George getting everything ready for the unveiling of their new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product tomorrow. Harry readily agreed. There were only so many cases he could work on at the same time before the fact of his loneliness caught up with him, making him feel bad and potentially reckless.

Spending time with Rose and Hugo after a gruelling day in the field or a boring one at his desk calmed him down or enlivened him, depending on the immediate need. Doing something as simple as preparing them supper, playing with them, making sure that they brushed their teeth before going to bed, reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard to Hugo and entertaining Rose, who was growing up to be as inquisitive as her mother, with stories from work filled his life with meaning and warmth it missed otherwise. Besides, he missed talking about his work, discussing little clues that led him to solve crimes, describing new spells that he wanted to try, going over the more fascinating cases he was working on at the moment.

The problem was that he couldn't talk about any of it with Ron anymore — not after a botched-up operation about five years ago that left him with a permanent injury in his knee, that prevented him from being as quick and useful in the field as he used to be, and caused Ron to quit and join George instead. He never stopped blaming himself for what had happened to Harry and it took around two years for Ron to be in the same room with Harry without averting his eyes in shame. Their relationship continued strained for some time but they were slowly bridging the gap and becoming close again.

«Harry,» said Hermione softly, interrupting his train of thoughts, «how long has it been since you last dated anyone?»

«Not long enough for me to forget what happened each time I tried,» he murmured, curling his lips. The bitterness in his voice made Hermione flinch. Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. He didn't want to upset her or make her feel guilty — it was hardly her fault that he couldn't find anyone decent enough to date who wouldn't rush and sell him to the Daily Prophet at the very first opportunity. Harry gulped down the bile that rose up to his throat at the the horrible memories.

«Not since...?» began Hermione almost fearfully.

Harry made a jerking motion with his head — then shuddered.

Antoine Perriere.

He was the worst of the kind. The final straw. Harry felt sick to the stomach just thinking about the bastard and what he had done to him. He was a real charmer, that one. They had been together for eight months. Harry didn't think that he could be happier. He had been sure that after all the disappointments and betrayals that he had to endure, after a long string of failed relationships, he had finally found his Mr Right. He was considering bonding and adoption when he found out that that son of a bitch had published a book titled _In Bed With The Chosen One_ , which provided a long and detailed account of their love affair and sex life that was no more truthful than (as it turned out later) his name and identity. Harry was beyond devastated. It was after that blow that he swore off relationships for good.

Hermione was looking at him with growing concern. Harry gave her a small smile that meant to reassure. 'I'll be fine,' it said. 'Don't worry about me.' Hermione looked like she was about to say something else but thought better of it. This time Harry smiled to himself. It was another sign of how exhausted she was that she didn't pursue the subject and tried to convince him to give it another try without Ron telling her to let go. Hermione merely nodded, leaned forward to squeeze his hand and with an air of someone facing the battle picked up the report again.

Harry levitated the tray and went to the kitchen, wondering if that was to be his life. He loved Rose, Hugo and Teddy, but when all was said and done, they weren't his children and he just couldn't pretend otherwise. In the end of the day he always returned to an empty house where he could count only on old Kreacher to be happy to see him. They had discussed his options many times before. Wasn't there anyone out there who wouldn't attempt to gain something through his association with Harry? Well, maybe there was. But Harry wasn't about to find that out. Not after that last debacle that cost him so much hurt and humiliation. He'd had enough. He just didn't know who to trust. And he didn't want to wait. There were times when he was even contemplating seeing muggles. But he didn't want to live a double life, always hiding his true identity. Not to mention that being an Auror it wouldn't look too good if he broke the Statute of Secrecy.

He didn't want to burden anyone with his desire for a family. He still remembered Ginny's less than thrilled reaction many years ago when he told her that he wanted to have a large family — it turned out that settling down with a brood wasn't exactly in her plans. Of course, that was right after the war and before Ginny had shoved him none too gently onto the journey of self-discovery that led him to the realization that he was, in fact, more interested in persuing romantic alliances with those of his own sex. No, he didn't want to burden anyone. He had to do it alone. Of course, he wanted to do it the normal way but normal didn't seem to apply to him. So he had to consider alternative ways of creating a family for himself. He has. For example, adoption. In fact, at the moment he was expecting a letter from a wizarding orphanage, hoping that they would let him adopt a baby on his own.

Having washed the dishes (he still preferred to do it the muggle way), Harry went upstairs to check if Rose and Hugo were asleep; he wasn't worried about Hugo, but Rose loved to sit up in bed with a book long past her bedtime. Then he returned to the drawing-room, kissed Hermione on the forehead (she gave him an absent-minded smile and patted him on the arm without taking her eyes off the parchment she was studying), took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot next to the fireplace and Flooed himself to Grimmauld Place.

«Master is home,» croaked Kreacher's voice as the elf appeared with the barest of pops a split second later, his tiny arms crossed on his chest. «At last.»

Harry laughed.

Then he spotted an official-looking envelope lying on the kitchen table. He grabbed it, fumbled with the seal (suddenly his hands started shaking), unfolded the parchment and looked through the first paragraph, holding his breath. Three lines down a lump formed in his throat and he slumped into a chair, shaking his head, his feasts clenched in fury.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received your letter and application form concerning the adoption of a child from St. Hilda's Home. However, having carefully considered the matter, we regret to inform you that we must reject your application on account of a number of important points that make you unsuitable for taking a child in your care._

_We are much obliged to you for your ardent interest in the welfare of our wards and wish to thank you for your generous contributions in the past. We hope that our reply will not affect your generous nature in any way._

_Our records show that you have previously applied for adoption to two other institutions. In order to avoid any further disappointment on your part, we wish to inform you that all the orphanages established by the wizarding community of Great Britain share the same database and that we carefully study all the records before making a final decision._

_A child, especially one brought up in an institution, requires safe, stable and comfortable environment. Therefore, we insist on allowing adoption only to those applicants who have a life partner to share the responsibility of raising the child with._

_Additionally, while we greatly admire your heroic past and your noble and essential work as an Auror at present, we cannot hide our concern at the violent nature of your job and the consequences that it might have on your life and that of your child should you adopt._

_And lastly, we absolutely cannot discount the fact of your own disturbed childhood, your criminal record, extremely public way in which you conduct your personal affairs and other calamities that plagued your life as a child and a young man. We fear that they could have left a lasting effect on your mental state and we cannot guarantee that the child you adopt will be safe in your care._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Evangelina Blight_

_St. Hilda's Home for Orphaned Children_

His knuckles white, Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire.

*

«Harry, are you sure about this?» asked Hermione, peering closely at him, her eyes brimming with sympathy and desperate desire to help. Harry felt a mad desire to hug her. However, he restricted his movements to a nod.

Ron shook his head, looking slightly green.

«I don't know, mate. I mean, wizarding pregnancy... it's not common... it's considered dangerous, you know...»

He looked troubled and kept throwing furtive glances at Harry. Once again he refused to meet his eye. Harry knew that he still felt guilty about Harry and Ginny's failed relationship, especially Ginny's decision not to pursue it any longer. Harry tried telling him again and again that it didn't matter, because of his preferences, but Ron was convinced that if Ginny hadn't broken off their relationship in the first place, Harry wouldn't have gone off on a self-searching journey during which he discovered that he wasn't straight after all. Besides, if they'd stayed together, he'd have had the family he'd always wanted. Harry thought that it was completely ridiculous and that the signs had been there all along but he had just been too busy while at Hogwarts to take notice.

Harry had asked Hermione to speak to Ron about his decision beforehand, so the first shock had worn off by now, but he still didn't look too happy with the idea. Now they were sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, which seemed like a fitting place, because it was always here where they planned momentous things. Harry knew that it would take a while to convince Ron to accept the fact that his best friend was going to conceive through artificial donor insemination and he braced himself for what was to be a long and difficult discussion. He could do it. He had prepared in advance too. He just had to remember his speech. How did it begin...?

Harry had really counted on adoption but, after the letter that he received about a month ago from St. Hilda's Home, he had to face the fact that adopting — at least in the wizarding world and by legal means at his disposal — wasn't an option. Apparently, according to their logic, it was better for a child to grow up in an institution, not knowing what it was like to have a real home and a loving family, than with a single parent who would do everything in his power to make it feel loved and cherished. Harry was sure that he had much to offer to any child of his but he wasn't about to settle for just about anyone in order to suit the stupid requirements at the orphanage. Therefore, he had decided to go with the only other option that required neither a life partner nor a permission: he was going to use a sperm bank to obtain semen for his future child and carry it himself.

It wasn't a rash or light decision to make. He had long been contemplating the possibility. He had researched and studied the matter of male pregnancy extensively (or as extensively as he could study something so rare) and consulted one of the specialists in the field: his old schoolmate, Ernie Macmillan. He was ready to do it if it meant that he would have a family of his own. He had counted on a big family and a special someone by his side but he had to start somewhere. So what if he decided to start backwards? He had enough experience in looking after the children thanks to his godchildren to be certain of his abilities to rear a child on his own. Of course, it took him awhile to decide on doing something as drastic as carrying it himself but the longer he waited the more desperate he became. Until male pregnancy stopped being a foreign concept but rather something that he regarded as a new adventure that scared him shitless.

Harry took a deep breath.

«Ron, listen, I know that it's a lot to take in. I know that it's not what you would want for me. I know that it's not all that common — but it's not unheard of either. I can supply you with all the necessary data to prove it.» Harry smiled ruefully. «Trust me, I've been doing nothing but studying and researching the matter ever since I decided on that course of action. I know exactly what I'm getting myself into and I know that whatever the risk I'm willing to take it because this is my chance to have a family of my own. I know that you don't like it but I will need my two best friends by my side. I need you. I don't have anyone else. And there is no one I'd rather share it with. I need you to be there for me. But only if you can do it.»

Harry fell silent and hung his head.

Ron hadn't looked at him once during his speech. Then —

«Er — how big will you get?»

Harry laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

«Honestly, Ron, is this the only thing you want to know?» she snapped.

«Well, as I understand from what I've read on the subject,» said Harry before they could start bickering, «there will be a certain degree of transformation visible outwardly — mainly in my abdominal region — but because it will be achieved through a special spell, I won't be as big as — »

« — me,» muttered Hermione darkly. It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes.

Harry gave her an apologetic grin.

«What will the spell do?» she asked.

«It will create an artificial womb that will allow me to carry the baby once I use the sperm from the wizarding sperm bank and — »

Ron had turned a nasty shade of green, now looking as though he was about to puke all over the kitchen table.

«Oh, get a grip, Ron!» hissed Hermione. «Stop being so childish, will you? This isn't about your sensibilities. Harry needs our help and he needs us to act our age! If you can't even hear what he's got to say...»

«I didn't say that I won't be helping him, did I?» snapped Ron, nettled. «But I can't just sit here and pretend that I like it. I mean, come on, it sounds really dodgy.»

Harry shook his head.

«There's nothing dodgy about the spell, Ron,» he said gravely. «Male bodies aren't exactly built to carry children, you know. And this spell is the only known way that can help a male wizard conceive, carry and bear a child. I'm not the first wizard to go through with it.»

«It's really dangerous,» repeated Ron, averting his gaze. «I don't want anything to happen to you, mate. That's all. I mean, a child is all very well, but I don't want to lose you because of it. You are more important. To me.»

«Ron, you're not going to lose me,» said Harry. «It's actually quite safe as long as you do it under proper conditions.»

«And what are they?» asked Ron defiantly.

«First of all,» said Harry patiently, «you must have powerful enough magic and you must be closely and constantly monitored by a specialist at a proper mediwizarding facility. I've been undergoing all sorts of tests to make sure that I can do it. There's actually a spell that tells them if your magic is strong enough to do it. If they told me that it's no good in my case, I would never do it. Believe me. No matter how much I wanted that child. I will have to have biweekly appointments, monthly check-ups and the spell will have to be reapplied every trimester. There's also a number of potions that I'll have to take on a regular basis to keep things running smoothly. And, of course, I mustn't do anything dangerous or overstress myself.»

Hermione let out a cough that most certainly covered a snort.

«What? You don't think I can do it? It'll take some getting used to, sure, but I reckon I can manage. There was something else... Ah! No more Firewhiskey for me on a Friday night. Sorry, mate.»

Ron gave a hollow sort of laugh.

«But, Harry, what about your work?» asked Hermione with a half-glance at Ron. «I know how much you've always wanted to be an Auror and how much you love being one. So what are you going do about it now? Surely, you can't run around catching criminals — not once you'll be carrying a baby.»

Harry snorted.

«I've been an Auror long enough to realise that being one didn't quite live up to my dreams,» he said, also with half a glance at Ron, who appeared to be quite intent on making a serious dent in the wooden table with his stare. «I mean, I love my work and all that, but I always knew that my decision to carry a child would affect it. But, really, I don't need to run around in order to catch criminals. I can restrict my dealings with them to my cubicle and solve cases at my desk. I don't always have to be on the field team, you know. There are many other trained Aurors at the Auror Department. I've trained many of them myself. I'm sure they'll manage just fine in the field without me. I have lots of paperwork to do as it is and there's one project I've never had enough time to work on before. Besides, because of the magical nature of my condition, my magical activity will have to be restricted to simple, basic spells, which will be of no use to me in the line of duty. Oh, yes, almost forgot. I won't be able to use any magical means of transportation either, so my movements will be limited too. Good thing I took my driving test though,» Harry added with a smirk.

Hermione was looking at him with tears in her eyes.

«Oh, Harry! I'm so proud of you,» she whispered.

«Why? Don't tell me it's because I've finally learned to do my own research,» he joked.

Hermione shook her head, smiling feebly at him.

«You are so brave to carry and bear a child, knowing that you will have to raise it on your own...»

«Well, I have you two to help me and I've had enough practice with Rose and Hugo.»

Harry tried to keep the conversation light but Hermione would have none of that.

«You know that's not what I mean.»

«I know...»

Hermione rose to her feet and Harry did the same. He knew that what she needed right now was a hug. He hugged her tightly, tucking her head under his chin and exchanging a look with Ron over the top of her head.

«I wish you had someone special in your life,» mumbled Hermione; «someone who would make you truly happy and who would be a great parent to your future child.»

Harry kissed her on the top of her head with a half-smile.

«Maybe I will.»

Hermione looked up at him.

«Someday.»

«But, say, what if something happens,» said Ron anxiously. «I mean, what if there's an emergency — how will we know? Can you at least use Floo to contact us?»

«I've thought about that too,» replied Harry, nodding. «The thing is that I might not be necessarily anywhere near a fireplace at the time.»

«So how then — ?»

«I'm sure that we can use our old method of communication. Hermione can always enchant a couple more fake galleons.»

«It's the least I can do,» she said, stepping back and looking at him with a mixture of wonderment and admiration as if she was about to remark on how tall he'd become. «You seem to have thought of everything.»

Harry was surprised that she had refrained from saying «You've grown so much. It's like you don't even need us any more.».

«I'm sure there are still plenty of things that I haven't taken into consideration,» replied Harry with a chuckle, «and that will take me completely by surprise when they come. But for now I think I'm all set.»

They sat down at the table again. It seemed that the most difficult part was over: Ron appeared to be resigned — if not quite convinced — and subdued by Harry's meticulous preparations. So Harry thought it save to ask Kreacher to bring in some tea.

«So what will you say at... at the office?» asked Ron, stumbling slightly over the word. «Do they know?»

Harry shook his head. «No one does.» He scratched the back of his neck. «I thought I would have to make a public statement at some point.»

However, what he didn't say in Ron's presence was that he was going to lean on his old Dark Magic injury as a cause for turning to desk job. Before now Harry tried to work as though he didn't have it at all, remembering battle-scarred Mad-Eye Moody and exerting himself to his full capacity. But now things were about to get very different different and Harry was actually willing to go as far as to pretend that the old injury had gotten to him at last in order to cover up the truth until he was ready for the wizarding community to know it.

Hermione was frowning at him.

«Are you talking about going to the _Daily Prophet_?» she asked.

«That stinking old rag!» exclaimed Ron. «Harry, are you out of your bloody mind?»

«I don't want there to be any speculations or rumours, Ron. I'd rather they have my side of the story before any Rita Skeeter-penned articles appear.»

«But how do you know that they won't twist your story? I mean, nothing stopped them from doing it before.»

«Susan Bones works as a special correspondent there now,» replied Harry. «She's OK. She's got her own column there, _Family Matters_. I think it'll be a perfect place for my story and I'm sure I can trust her to present it in a proper light.»

Hermione nodded.

«I forgot that Susan worked there. I must say that she's really good at what she does. Yes, I see your point, Harry. I think you'll be just fine giving her an interview.»

«I'm sorry but am I the only one who still doesn't like this idea?» asked Ron.

«Shut up, Ron,» said Hermione.

Ron looked incredulously at Harry who grinned back at him and shrugged his shoulders. Defeated, Ron shook his head, muttering «Barmy. The both of you.» under his breath.

However, the next moment Hermione asked a question that wiped away Harry's merriment and sobered him up.

«Harry, will you be able to learn the identity of the donor?»

Harry shook his head.

«No. He will remain completely anonymous. Neither I nor my child will ever know who he is. It will be my child. Mine and mine alone.»

Harry was adamant on that point when he was filling the application form during the preliminary meeting at the wizarding sperm bank a fortnight ago and was rigorously questioned on each and every point during an interview by a kindly elderly lady afterwards.

«Don't worry, dear,» she added quickly at the look of alarm on his face when she mentioned the he or his future child could opt to know the identity of the donor, «all our records are sealed unless requested otherwise and we guarantee complete anonimity of the donor and the recipient alike. However, we do offer a choice for those who wish to have one. In this case, it will be noted down in your application form and will, therefore, affect the selection of the donor in question. Just like recipients many donors prefer to remain unknown to any future offspring they might help conceive. That's a 'no' then, dear? Very well.»


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy entered the library of Malfoy Manor, locked the door behind him with a powerful non-verbal spell that he had perfected throughout the years of extensive use and walked briskly to the very back of the room. There, on the shelf behind a row of dusty, thick volumes, no one ever read, under several layers of concealment charms, he kept hidden an ancient book that belonged to many generations of the Malfoy family. It had been created by one of his ancestors — a jealous and wicked Chantal Malfoy — with an intention of keeping track and learning the names of each new lover her unfaithful husband had taken and each child he had sired on the side in order to take revenge on the mistress and timely action on the child in question.

Later, the book had been modified simply to reflect the names of the people who entered the Malfoy family through marriage or children in any part of the world. This unfortunate magical creation, that never failed to record a single name yet, had become the bane of Draco's existence and gave him a massive headache, because his father, in his present fragile mental state, often took comfort in perusing its many pages, filled with many outstanding names and extensive biographical notes that followed, bringing back memories of those fine glorious days when Malfoy name commanded awe and respect within the wizarding community.

Draco, who was unfortunate enough to be born at the dawn of the family name and fortune, could not think without a shudder about what would happen if his father opened the book before he had deleted the records that could appear there at any moment.

Shortly after the war, in a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief, all their assets were seized and their name and reputation left in tatters that had more holes in them than a sieve. Ten years later, Draco still resented his father's lack of action. He didn't even attempt to keep his family safe by leaving the country and lying low until everything calmed down, thus preserving what could be still preserved: the last vestiges of dignity and his own sanity, for example. In fact, Lucius Malfoy was so blinded by his faith in his family name, he fully counted on his influence and influential friends at the Ministry of Magic to keep him safe even after he had been exposed as a Death Eater. He was sure that he would be able to avoid punishment and retribution just like the last time. But the wizarding world was angry and devastated and they needed someone to pay for their pain and loss. Therefore, while his ex-Death Eater cronies were fleeing the country, Lucius Malfoy was taken into custody, his contacts having failed him, Malfoy Manor ransacked and Malfoy vaults emptied.

The manor itself could not be taken away until the last living Malfoy lived there, because of charms and enchantments placed on it at the time of its foundation, that promised horrible consequences on the heads of those who attempted to do it, complete with Dark magic curses that would haunt the members of their families for generations to come. But that meant that though they managed to retain the house (albeit devoid of its many highly dangerous and valuable relics) in their possession, they were poorer than the Weasleys.

Much to his chagrin, Draco found out that the venues for earning money were extremely limited for an ex-Death Eater's son who had been convicted for numerous crimes against muggles, muggleborns and wizarding world in general. The only thing that saved Lucius Malfoy from serving a life-long sentence in Azkaban was the fact of his fast declining health and sanity. He was allowed to live the remainder of his days at the manor, wandless, his gold taken in payment for the irredeemable debt to society.

In the aftermath, Draco managed to find a way or two to help his family with its almost non-existent finances and one of them was to regularly sell his pure-blood sperm to the wizarding sperm bank after he had chanced to catch the teensiest of advertisments in the very corner of an advertising page in the Daily Prophet. It was degrading to the last degree but Draco had learned humility at the hands of the Dark Lord himself and just like during the war he promised to do anything he could to save his family or at least to keep his mother and father from dying a hungry death within the walls of Malfoy Manor.

It turned out that pure-blood semen was in particular demand because of its notable lack in their database. And no wonder, thought Draco grimly; a rare pure-blood would sink so low as to become a donor. Of course, with a number of magically-proof ways to solve fertility and conception problems, a wizarding sperm bank wasn't very popular among wizarding population, especially its pure-blood part, who frowned upon the idea and considered it too muggle for their taste. On the other hand, many muggleborns and even half-bloods preferred to use it instead of relying on magic.

Draco demanded complete anonymity and was heartily assured that no one would ever learn of his identity. Draco's lips curled. He could believe them on that score: they wouldn't want anyone to know that their donor was a Malfoy. Oh, the horror! The shame! But the confounded book could give him away and create problems for him within his own family and he didn't need that on top of everything else. That's why Draco checked it on a regular basis and whenever he found a new name winding its way across the page, he used a series of complicated enchantments, that he had learned specifically for the occasion, in order to delete the newest record so that no one was the wiser.

Draco took off the concealment enchantments one by one with a weaving motion of his wand as though he was making an invisible piece of cloth and dragged the heavy book to the desk in the recess nearby. He put it down but didn't open. No, he needed a few moments. He sat down and rubbed his face, steeling himself for what he had to do if there was a new entry waiting for him. It was a long and complicated process and he needed to gather all of his strength and concentration in order to be able to hoodwink an ancient magical book into believing that there were no new names for it to put down. But today had been a very difficult day and it was only one o'clock in the afternoon. He hoped that his mother would be home soon. His father had been extremely difficult and she was the only one who could manage him and make him do what she wanted.

Narcissa Malfoy rarely left her husband's side these days and seemed doomed to share his house-arrest for as long as he lived on account of his failing health. But she was a patient and stoic woman and she never complained. However, today she had to leave in order to pawn some more of her jewels at Borgin and Burkes that hadn't been subject to confiscation as belonging to her prior to her marriage. His father hated when his mother left even for a short while and he was in the foulest of moods on present occasion. Narcissa had a knack for calming and subduing Lucius with a right look, a word, a touch as well as a number of spells to reinforce the effect. Draco, alas, wasn't quite as skilled in the casting of the necessary spells non-verbally. He could do them with his wand on any day but Lucius couldn't stand when someone was using magic in his presence with their wand.

So Draco was left to calm him down with a look, a word and a touch that proved inadequate and only served to infuriate him further. However, Narcissa was the only one in their household nowadays who could command respect even now when dealing with such a character as Mr. Borgin and receive from him the sum that she counted on at the outset.

Draco shook his head. There were times when his father was almost peaceful. But today was not such a day. He had finally managed to appease Lucius by settling him in the drawing-room in his favourite armchair by the fire with a glass of elf-made wine and a thick folder with yellowish newspaper clippings that at present bore about the only testimony to the fabled greateness of the Malfoy family. Lucius looked quite content, muttering appreciatively and chuckling to himself over the triumphs of his ancestors. He also left a house-elf to look surreptitiously after him.

When Draco finally felt sufficiently calm and in possession of his spell-casting faculties, he reached for the book. However, just as he was on the point of opening it, there was a loud pop and a house-elf appeared before him, wringing its hands in obvious distress. Draco raised his eyebrows.

«Yes? What is it?» he snapped, making a brisk waving motion with his hand to show that the elf should quickly state its point and leave him to his affairs.

«Master, Draco,» the elf squeaked in a tiny voice that vibrated with terror. «Tilly is very sorry, sir, but Master Lucius is having one of his fits — »

It hadn't occurred to Draco until that moment that something could be the matter with his father, because he had left a different elf to look after him. He lept to his feet, forgetting about the book.

«How bad is it?» he asked, rushing towards the door.

«Bad, Master Draco, bad,» panted the elf, running to catch up with him. «Master Lucius is discovering Binky standing in the doorway and is starting to beat him with his cane, sir!»

Draco swore loudly. This wasn't bad — this was a complete disaster. And it was all his fault. He should never have left Lucius alone in the drawing-room with just the house-elf to keep an eye on him!

Draco sprinted along the hall and down the stairs, running at a mad pace and leaping over the steps. He burst into the drawing-room, breathing heavily, and froze in horror.

The tiny elf was sprawled on the floor. His father was leaning out of his armchair, pressing one of the elf's arms with his foot and lashing him with his cane.

«Binky is sorry, Master. Binky is sorry...» sobbed the elf.

«Father, stop!» shouted Draco, going further into the room, his wand clenched into fist and plastered against the side of his leg — out of sight.

«You!» screeched Lucius Malfoy when he saw his son, now brandishing a cane at him. «How dare you set an elf to spy on me? How dare you? I am your father. Show some respect!» He stomped on the elf's arm. There was a sickening crack — the elf began to wail in pain.

Draco's heart sank.

«Father, please, stop. Let Binky go,» he said softly, in vain trying to stop himself from shaking. «He needs help. Let the other elves take care of him. Tilly — »

But it was too late. Draco glanced out of the window with trepidation — and sure enough the very next moment he saw six people Apparating just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. Draco knew them well. Woodcock, Littleworth, Grogan, Peppercorn, McLean and Mediwitch Antonnelli were assigned to Malfoy Manor. They worked for Fair House-Elf Treatment Commission, a fairly new devision of Magical Law Enforcement Department. These days they kept tabs on all the house-elves in Britain and monitored their physical and mental state through a tracking device that had been implanted into the ear of each and every house-elf during the census and that looked like a tiny round earring.

They were running along the drive that led to the front-doors and Draco knew that they were authorised to use any spell warranted by the situation they encountered at the manor. He knew that he had to try and neutralise his father — he had to make him look utterly harmless. But how? He wasn't going to get any nearer, because of the cane that could smash in his head. He would have to use a spell his mother used to subdue him. But his panic, coupled with the elf's pain-filled wailing, were interfering with his thinking processes. His mother used different spells depending on the violence of the fit recommended by the books on mediwizardry in such cases. Draco cursed himself for not spending more time with the texts. But it was hard. Not reading the texts gave him a false sense of lack of problem.

Draco lost his head. He raised his wand but couldn't remember the right incantation; it could have as well been obliterated from his mind or never entered it. There was no time. He would just have to use a different spell then and deal with the consequences later.

«Petrificus — »

«Noooo!» roared Lucius madly, flinging his cane right at him.

Draco lept out of the way just in time. The cane smashed into the glass-fronted cabinet behind him with an ear-splitting crash instead, showering the floor with glass. Draco straightened up on wobbly legs, holding his wand aloft. He could hear running footsteps. He had a split second to act.

«Father, I'm just trying to help,» he tried soothingly. «Trust me. Just stay calm. Now Tilly — »

But at that moment a six-strong Ministry squad burst into the room, their eyes trained on and their wands pointing at Draco and Lucius.

«Mr Malfoy,» said a cool voice that belonged to Woodcock, «please lower your wand.»

Draco didn't budge. His father's face contorted into a ferocious snarl his predecessors would be shocked to witness on the representative of their noble house. Draco knew that the sight of so many wands would drive him berserk. The next moment, Lucius reached for the poker.

«Incarcerous,» cried another member of the squad, Grogan; thick ropes appeared out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around Lucius, who began to hiss, spit and kick with all his might. The poker fell with a resounding Clang! onto the marble floor next to the fireplace.

«There's a spell my mother uses,» began Draco cautiously. «It is recommended in my father's case. It will subdue him without any consequences to his present state. I can look it up and perform it. It would be better if I do it. Father doesn't react well to wands.»

«Mr Malfoy, please stay where you are and lower your wand,» repeated Woodcock. «Do not worry yourself. We have the situation under control. McLean, retrieve the elf,» he added, addressing a young woman with a ponytail standing next to him.

McLean moved forward, aiming her wand at Lucius, put a Leg-Locker Curse on him, bent down and cautiously retrieved the house-elf from underneath his feet. A mediwitch, who was always on the team in case of an emergency, conjured stretchers and rushed towards McLean and the poor elf. Carefully, they put him on the stretchers and Draco noticed that Binky had fainted. In the meantime, Lucius was frothing at the mouth with fury and indignation.

«How dare you barge into my house unannounced and use magic against me?» he snarled. «Who do you think you are? I am Lucius Malfoy! Lord of Malfoy Manor. I demand that you release me immediately and begone. Who gave you the authority to take charge of my property — »

Draco made a chocking noise at the back of his throat that could have been the beginning of a hysterical laughter — his father was so completely out of touch with reality these days — and made a step forward. He had just remembered the incantation and he was going to perform the spell whether they wanted him or not.

«Mr Malfoy! Stand back and lower your wand. NOW! This is your final warning.»

«Listen to me!» cried Draco. «He's sick. He isn't in his right mind. He needs special treat — »

«Flipendo!» Draco was knocked backwards by the spell. «Expelliarmus!» His wand flew out of his hand and into the hand of the wizard who had cast the spells. Draco curled his hands into fists with impotent rage. Fools!

«How is the elf?» asked Woodcock the mediwitch.

«His arm is broken. The skin on his back is severely damaged. Some of his ribs are fractured. There is a bump on his forehead. A piece of skin is missing from his left ear. The signal on his chip had streamed extreme distress...»

Woodcock nodded grimly.

«Mr Malfoy,» he said, addressing Lucius, who continued to fight against the bonds like a man possessed, «you are hereby under arrest for attacking and severely mutilating a house-elf employed within your household. You will be immediately taken into custody and delivered to Azkaban — »

«Wait!» exclaimed Draco. «You can't do that. You can't take him away. He's ill. Don't you see? He's under house-arrest as it is. He can't be moved.»

Their wands never leaving Draco and Lucius, Woodcock considered the matter in a series of hurried whispers with the other members of the team but the mediwitch, who was casting spells in order to prepare Binky for transportation to St. Mungo's.

«You are aware that beating a house-elf within an inch of its life is a serious offence under the new law,» said Woodcock at last. «If your father cannot come with us — you will.»

Draco raised his chin up and stared defiantly at them, his mouth curved into a sneer — the only defence he had left. He knew all along that today his father had gone too far and that he would be the one to pay for his transgression. After all, that was what he had been doing for the last ten years...

«Tilly,» he said quickly as they were leading him away, «find Mother at once. Tell her what happened.» Tilly was a smart elf. Draco knew that once the spells wore off she would use her elfish magic to keep his father in that armchair until his mother arrived.

Lucius was delirious: twisting his upper body like a wounded serpent (his legs still frozen under a spell) and screaming his head off. His neatly-arranged hair (now grey) had come out of his ponytail, falling across his gaunt face. His eyes were full of madness. He didn't even notice that Draco was being carted off to Azkaban.

Draco wanted them to leave before Lucius started telling them that he would curse their families with plague or something equally fatal. Coming from the lips of a convicted Death Eater it wouldn't be considered an idle threat...

*

Draco was sentenced to three months in Azkaban. The only good thing that could be said about the wizarding prison was that it was no longer guarded by Dementors. Draco was grateful for that, because he didn't want to relive his worst memories for three whole months — nowadays there were too many of them to plague him. However, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that their essence had sipped into the very walls of the place, because he found that he couldn't think of anything cheerful enough. Then again, the last ten years of his life could hardly be called cheerful. Perhaps, it was their heavy burden that hung over him like a solidified mist of gloom that so thoroughly oppressed his mind.

His mother visited him as often as she could spare a bit of time almost entirely taken up by her ailing husband. But the sight of her face though most welcome could hardly alleviate his depression, because he knew only too well that behind her courageous facade, that she carefully applied like another layer of make-up and maintained throughout the day, was concealed misery and despair as deep and bottomless as his own. Narcissa Malfoy was struggling as hard as she could to keep the pieces of their life together and not once showed a sign of giving up. Draco feircely admired that. He knew that his mother was hoping against hope that the wizarding community would relent and at least exonerate her son by giving him another chance at normal life within the society.

«Mother,» murmured Draco when she came to take him home. He leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek, noticing how hollow it had become. Narcissa looked at his shoulder-length scraggly hair with a look of wonder that they should be so long and frowned at a short but thick stubble that covered his chin and cheekbones as though she could hardly recognise him. «I know. I badly need a shave and a haircut,» said Draco with a half-smile. «I'm afraid I rather neglected my grooming habits while here. Turns out prison doesn't inspire one to look his best. Oh, well, who knew...» His mother gave him a tight smile that never, not even for a second, relaxed at the edges, before her lips resumed their customary pursed position and her jaw clenched as though she was in pain that was chronic by now. Draco wondered if he would ever see her faded blue eyes sparkle again. «How is he?» he asked.

«He is in a good mood,» replied his mother in a neutral voice, relaying what his father had been doing almost mechanically. «I told him that I was bringing you home today. He seemed very pleased. He said that he was going to read a book in the meantime.»

From the way she spoke about him, Draco had an impression that they were discussing a younger brother of his who was giving his mother a lot of trouble.

Lucius was indeed in a good mood when they arrived. Draco and Narcissa Apparated straight into the hallway onto a magnificent carpet, covering most of the stone floor, surrounded by the portraits whose pale faces stared with various degrees of disapproval down their pointed noses at them from the walls, and, giving each other a look of support, went through a heavy wooden door into the drawing-room. Draco was startled to see his father standing upright, albeit leaning heavily on his cane. Draco couldn't remember the last time he saw his father leaving his favourite armchair long enough to stand. What was more, Lucius was positively beaming at him, which made him look even more deranged.

«Draco! Come, come! Come closer. I've been expecting you,» he said with an eager gesture of his free arm. Draco looked sideways at his mother, who appeared to be just as nonplussed by her husband's unusual jubilating air as he was. However, she made a slight motion with her head, which meant that she wanted Draco to do what his father told him. Draco gave her a barely noticeable nod and moved forward. He would much have preferred to go to his room and have a bath rather than deal with his father's strangely triumphant mood at the moment. But his father was looking so expectantly at him — so much like a child who wanted to show him his newest toy that he could do nothing but walk towards him with a false smile plastered on his face.

However, his fake smile fell off when he noticed an open book, that looked very familiar, lying on top of a small round table that stood in front of his father's armchair. No...

«Well, Son? Why didn't you tell me?» asked his father eagerly and fell into a fit of wheezing sort of chuckling. «Wanted it to be a surprise, I daresay! Is that not so? Ah! Well done, Draco! Well done, indeed! I knew you had it in you! Capital!»

«What do you mean?» asked Draco cautiously, coming to a halt in front of the table and lowering his eyes to the book.

«Harry Potter!» exclaimed Lucius Malfoy, pointing excitedly at the name that was written in green ink across the page in a complicated scroll that reminded a vine. It was intertwined with Draco's name and a single offshoot was winding its way further down the page from the point where their names interlinked. Draco staggered. Impossible! It couldn't be... Harry Potter? What sort of joke was that?

«What is going on?» asked Narcissa sharply, joining them at the table.

«Ah! Narcissa, dear! Haven't you heard? Our son has aligned himself with Harry Potter!» declared Lucius as though that was everything he had ever dreamed of. «Look! Look down if you don't believe me!» he said feverishly, pointing at their names joined together with a shaking finger, because Narcissa's face showed nothing but astonishment and disbelief. «The book is never wrong, my dear, you know that.» Narcissa bent her head lower, squinting closely at the names and Draco wondered if she had been overstraining her eyes again, poring over the bills that never seemed to end, even though they had retrenched as much as they could without starving themselves to death. «See!» cackled Lucius, the hand on his cane trembling with the effort it took him to keep himself standing. «And that is not all news, dear. Look here. Do you see it? Yes? It means that they are expecting a child! Isn't that capital news, love? I say, capital, indeed! Another Malfoy!»

Draco wasn't sure that he wasn't dreaming. He felt weak in the knees and had half a mind to summon his father's cane for support. Harry Potter! Of all fucking wizards... it had to be Potter!

«But why didn't you say anything?» repeated Lucius, his pale grey eyes wide and enquiring like a child's who genuinly didn't understand the problem. Draco didn't know what to say. But he knew that he couldn't tell the truth — at least, not to his father. He thought quickly about his options. They were rather limited. Though his mother didn't say another word, he could feel her eyes boring into him.

«I didn't know how you would take it,» he stuttered at last, rubbing his forehead.

Lucius clucked his tongue.

«Nonsense! I am beyond extatic!»

«Besides, we didn't know if it would work,» continued Draco, wondering what he was getting himself into. «We wanted to wait and make sure, you know, so as not to raise your hopes...» he finished with a shrug.

«Of course, of course,» murmured Lucius, appeased. «I understand. My dear,» he said, extending his hand for Narcissa to take, «this alliance will bring us back on top! Mark my words!»

«Of course, my love,» replied Narcissa calmly, caressing the back of his hand. «But, dear, you must take care of yourself. Why don't you have a bit of a rest in the chair? You've been standing long enough. I'm afraid you have greatly overexerted yourself over the news.»

«Excellent news, Narcissa, darling. Excellent news!»

«Indeed,» replied Narcissa through pursed lips. «Now, love, please...»

She guided him into a chair and he meekly obeyed. Though he was sitting next to the fireplace, Narcissa placed a blanket over his legs and leaned the cane against the mantelpiece. Lucius was once again looking at Draco, who hated seeing his father being treated like a disabled child. His gaze was slightly unfocused.

«I see you have decided to grow a beard,» he said with a chuckle, as though he had no idea where Draco had spent the last three months. «Your grandfather, Abraxas, had a fine beard. Much more finer than Dumbledore's, I declare!»

Draco produced a smile for his father's sake and hoped that it didn't look as pained as it felt stretched across his face.

«Actually, Father, I'm not sure that I have enough patience to grow a beard and I am rather doubtful that it would look as fine on me.»

«And what does Mr Potter think? Does he approve?» asked Lucius eagerly. «You should ask him before getting rid of it, you know.»

Draco inwardly groaned.

«My love,» said Narcissa gently but firmly. «Draco needs to have a bath and I need to discuss dinner with Tilly. Do you think you could stay here on your own for a little while longer? I will be back in no time and then we will spend the rest of the evening together. We could play gobstones. You would like that, wouldn't you, dear? Excellent. I'll bring your set with me.»

She leaned forward, kissed Lucius on the cheek and marched out of the room. Draco stood staring at his father as though someone had struck him with a Full-Body-Bind Curse, sheltered within an armchair, poring over the book and reverently tracing Draco and Potter's name with the tip of his finger. Draco was devastated to see him reduced to this childlike person. His mind — it was completely damaged.

The process started some time after the war or at least that's when they began to take notice, as it started manifesting itself in every day life in little uncontrolled burst of anger that turned more and more violent each time. However, Lucius had never been the same since his stint in Azkaban and the disgrace that it had brought upon him. He fell in the eyes of the Dark Lord who, henceforth, regarded him with derision and contemp as a weakling and a failure and took pleasure in torturing and humiliating him in private or in front of the other Death-Eaters, having relegated him to the lowest ranks. It was too much for him to understand that he was regarded as scum by those who in better days would not merit the honour to shine his shoes.

«Draco, are you coming?» asked his mother imperiously from the doorway.

Draco bowed his head.

«Yes, Mother.»

He turned on his heels and reluctantly followed her into the hall. Narcissa took him to the study, locked the door and put a number of spells around the room before finally meeting his eye.

«What is the meaning of this?» she asked. «Why is Harry Potter's name in that book your father enjoys spending time with whenever I'm not around? Don't even try, Draco, don't you even try giving me that cock-and-bull story that you gave him,» she warned him when he began to open his mouth. «Your father might be out of his mind but I am in full possession of my mental faculties. Out with it. What — have — you — done?»

Draco lowered his eyes and fumbled with the silver, serpent-shaped fastenings on his travelling cloak that had seen better days.

«I've been selling my sperm to a wizarding sperm bank,» he mumbled so low Narcissa couldn't hear a word he said.

Narcissa Malfoy raised her eyebrows and looked severely at her son.

«I'm afraid I haven't quite caught that. Do better next time, won't you, Draco?»

Draco felt two hot spots appear on his cheeks and he was sure that they were pink and shiny. However, he reminded himself that he did nothing wrong or shameful. He did what he could to help his family. There were worse things that a pure-blood wizard could do for the sake of his family. Of course, there was also the fact of talking about his sperm in front of his mother — he hadn't counted on that... But he wasn't an errant schoolboy anymore. He was a grown man and he had certainly learned to take responsibility for his actions in the intervening years.

Draco cleared his throat, raised his eyes to meet hers and spoke clearly this time, «I have been selling my sperm to a wizarding sperm bank.»

Narcissa Malfoy looked too shocked to speak. She clutched her throat while her eyes grew extremely wide and showed more emotion than he had seen there in ten years at least.

«Draco!» she exclaimed at last, shaking her head. «Why would you do something like that? Why? It is such a muggle sort of thing,» she said in distaste. «I always disapproved of it. I would never think... I thought you got the gold from selling those potions you were brewing on the black market.»

Draco snorted.

«Potions!» he snarled with derision. «They were giving me a pittance for all the trouble I went through to brew them. Hardly enough to cover the cost of the ingredients and nothing much left for you and father.» He looked defiantly — almost scornfully — at her. «I'm not ashamed of it. I did what I thought was right. And you will not shame me for doing the right thing for you and father.»

Narcissa's face softened and she touched his stubbled cheek as though she was truly surprised to see how much her son had grown and what sort of man he had become.

«No, I won't,» she said quietly, «but I will forbid you to do it,» she added firmly. «From now on you will sieze every interaction with this bank.»

«But Mother — »

Narcissa placed a finger against his lips to shush him.

«It just so happens that you aren't the only one who has been keeping a terrible secret,» she said and her lips actually twitched in what could only be amusement.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

«I'm afraid I have been doing something thoroughly unbefitting a Malfoy,» confessed Narcissa. «Your father would be shocked. I am shocked! But I think I might have just found myself. I've been working!»

Draco didn't understand what she meant by that and he wasn't even sure that he had heard it right but he noted that during that short speech her mother was opening like a flower.

«I don't understand. Working on what? Wait a minute! Mother, you haven't redecorated my room while I was away, have you?» he asked in indignation. «I'm not a child anymore, you know. I can redecorate my own room!»

Narcissa shook her head.

«I would never presume to do something like that, dear,» she said almost gravely but for a mischievous twinkle in her eye. «Draco, you probably don't know this but as children my sisters and I used to make special dress robes and gowns for our dolls.»

Draco raised his eyebrows even higher; he hadn't expected his mother to start talking about her childhood and he couldn't really see where this was going. However, he didn't interrupt her. It was obviously something important and he was pleased to see that it brought colour to her face.

«After the search of the manor, as I was trying to assess what hadn't been taken away, I found an old box filled with dolls, clothes and my old sketches upstairs in the loft. It didn't occurr to me right then but in the months that followed this box and many happy memories it contained were my only solace and comfort. Your father's mental health was deteriorating at an alarming pace; the life that we had built had by then fallen apart; I was afraid that any moment now the both of you would be taken off to Azkaban... so when I couldn't take it anymore, when I felt that I was at the end of my tether, I would go upstairs to the loft and sketch. I'm sure back then it was the only thing that kept my sanity intact. Eventually, I felt a keen need to share what I had been creating with others. I decided to be bold and modern and not to care a beetle's eye about traditions.» Draco's mouth was hanging open by then. Narcissa shrugged. «I had nothing to lose. So I took some of my old gowns that I should probably never have an occasion to wear again and told Tilly to undo them and turn them into some of my better designs.» Narcissa laughed at the dumbfounded look on Draco's face. «I called in a favour at Twilfitt and Tatting's and they put them on sale. And I'm happy to say that they did very well. By the way, I was setting up my own little shop in Diagon Alley while you were locked up. I even found a perfect salesperson — Astoria Greengrass. Do you remember her? A sweet girl. I once hoped that you would make a fine match.»

«I didn't want to ruin her life,» mumbled Draco. «But I don't see how you managed to do all that. I would have thought that they would drive you out of there as soon as they saw you or heard your name.»

«Oh that.» Narcissa made a playful motion with her hand. «I found that 'Cissy Black' doesn't repulse customers as much as 'Narcissa Malfoy' would. Often enough they don't even make the connection.»

Draco didn't think that anything would ever shock him again. First Harry Potter carrying his child. Now his own mother setting up a shop! Has the world gone crazy while he was wallowing in misery in Azkaban?

Draco couldn't remember when he saw his mother's animated face or heard her speak with so much enthusiasm about something that she truly loved and wanted to do — in other words, something that wasn't conditioned by his or father's needs. He took her hands in his and squeezed.

«I'm so happy for you,» he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

«Now,» said Narcissa Malfoy business-like, making a step back and looking critically at her son, «what are you going to do about this situation with Potter? Your father can't know the truth or he'll have another fit and I shudder to think what that would do to him.»

«Then I won't tell him,» said Draco with a long-suffering sigh. «I will just have to talk to Potter and convince him to play along. We'll go from there. We could always stage a break-up later on.»

«Hmm... « said Narcissa thoughtfully, «and if he refuses to cooperate, remind him of what happened in the Forbidden Forest. That will do the trick, I'm sure.»


	3. Chapter 3

Harry realized that he was shaking with fury. Badly. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands into fists in order to calm himself down. He could not afford to worry or panic because that could distabilise the magical field around his abdomen and nether regions that supported the artificial environment for the baby and could very well lead to a miscarriage. If that happened he would never be allowed to carry another child. He couldn't let that happen. But ever since he received that criptic missive from Malfoy he could do nothing but worry about the fact that he somehow managed to discover what remained for the moment a secret that Harry wasn't ready to share with the world. That's what it said:

_Potter,_

_I know about your condition. I also happen to know how it came about. We need to talk. Meet me at Dragon's Breath, Knockturn Alley, Thursday at 14.00._

_Draco Malfoy._

_P.S. Don't bother hiding this letter or setting fire to it. It is spelled so that only you can see what's written in it and will set itself on fire as soon as you have read it, anyway._

Harry yelped when the parchment in his hands began to smoke and curl at the edges as soon as he had read the last word. In a split second it burnt itself into a pile of ashes that then vanished out of sight but the message itself appeared to be branded at the forefront of Harry's mind. The bastard! For the first time in a long time, Harry started to hyperventilate. Thankfully, his Auror training caught up with him in time to stop him from having a full-blown panic attack right there in his cubicle and pressing the fake galleon, he carried in his pocket in case of an emergency, in order to summon his friends. But he had been jittery ever since. Now Harry was walking briskly along Knockturn Alley to their designated meeting place, fuming with anger, the hood of his cloak firmly in place so that it covered most of his face. He didn't want to be seen or recognised. But what the heck was Malfoy playing at?

Harry had heard all about his recent stint in Azkaban from Hermione who was beyond herself and wouldn't shut up about the poor house-elf and many severe injuries it had sustained, what she regarded as a thoroughly inadequate punishment for a mutilation of a living magical creature to such a degree, and how all the Malfoys should be locked up and their house-elves released from their service and placed in a special rehabilitation facility she was drafting another proposal for. He had also heard about their financial troubles ever since all their assets had been seized by the Ministry and there had even been a recent rumour that Narcissa Malfoy was going into trade. Well, he didn't believe that bit. Ridiculous. So if Malfoy thought that he could raise his fortune at Harry's expense, then he was very much mistaken.

Dragon's Breath was an equivalent of Hog's Head in Hogsmeade in that it attracted a rough crowd and catered to a bunch of shady characters who preferred to conduct their shady affairs in a dingy, poorly-lit room over a dust-covered bottle of out-of-date Firewhiskey. Harry didn't frequent such places for his own enjoyment but he did have to pay an occasional visit there in the line of duty. He had second thoughts about not telling Ron and Hermione that he had received a letter from Draco Malfoy, stating that he knew his secret and wanted to talk to him, and that he was meeting him on his own. But he knew that they would both flip over and he just couldn't deal with their extreme emotions on top of everything else. Of course, he could just ignore the letter and not show up at all, but what if Malfoy would go to the _Daily Prophet_ with the juicy piece of news as the last ditch to get his hands on some gold?

Harry entered the pub and spent a moment adjusting to the dimness and crowdness of the place. It seemed to be a busy time and Harry wondered if that was why Malfoy chose it. Was he afraid that Harry would attack him or something? Harry finally spotted him at the table in the far corner of the room once he helpfully flipped back his hood for a split second and Harry caught familiar but unwelcome sight of his blond hair. Taking another deep breath and telling himself to control his emotions for the baby's sake, Harry strode across the room to the table. Malfoy nodded in greeting and made a motion with his hand as though Harry needed his gracious permission to take a seat.

Harry didn't sit down but leaned over the table and hissed into his pale, pointed face, «I don't know how you found out, who told you or how many people you had to torture to get hold of this information but if you're thinking for one moment that you'll get away with blackmailing me — »

«I'm not here to blackmail you, Potter,» gritted out Malfoy. «I came here to talk. Just like I said in my letter. So sit down for fuck's sake and stop spitting in my face.»

Harry was momentarily taken aback by his seeming vehemence. Then, he narrowed his eyes. It was probably just an act. It's Malfoy, he reminded himself. You can't trust him. At the same time Harry knew that it was unwise to cause a scene that would no doubt attract unwanted attention to the pair of them. Together they were notorious enough even for such a dodgy place. 'The baby. Think about the baby,' Harry intoned under his breath. «You must control your anger.»

So he sat down and tried to relax. Malfoy nodded and cast a series of silencing and privacy spells around their table. Harry regarded him warily. He hadn't seen the man for about ten years and he didn't look too good. There were dark shadows under his eyes, he looked thin and haggard and his skin had a distinctly greyish tinge to it as it did back in their sixth year. Harry felt a pang of pity for him. He couldn't have had an easy life after the war and, having been pampered all his life, it must have been a hard and humiliating lesson to learn. Harry was surprised that he had survivded the ordeal. Malfoy seemed to interpret his look (whatever that was — Harry couldn't tell) quite differently.

«What's the matter, Potter?» he asked with a sneer. «Don't trust my spell-casting skills? I'm sorry if they aren't up to your high standards... Famous Auror Harry Potter...»

Harry rolled his eyes. Seriously? After all this time he still remembered their schoolboy rivalry and regarded him as his archrival? Harry wasn't about to tell Malfoy that he couldn't cast the necessary spells anyway as they would draw on magic that was otherwise engaged in supporting his growing baby.

«So what did you want to talk about?» he asked instead. «If it's not money that you wish to extort from me for keeping your trap shut then what is it? What do you want from me? And, while we're on the subject of illigal actions, maybe you'll tell me how you managed to obtain this information? I'm sure it wasn't legal. I was assured that my condition and my identity would remain anonymous for as long as I chose to conceal them. Even now they swear that they haven't told anyone and are ready to take all the necessary tests to prove it. So how...?»

Malfoy cleared his throat several times. It was as though a piece of what he wanted to say had stuck in his throat. Harry waited patiently for him to speak.

«The child... that you're carrying,» he began at long last and Harry hissed and looked around like a scalded cat, afraid to see all the eyes on him; «I'm... the other father.»

Harry stared. _What?_ Then, he burst out laughing. Malfoy, for some reason, looked affronted.

«What kind of joke is that, Malfoy?» asked Harry. «I mean, why would you even joke like that in the first place?»

«It's not a joke, Potter. Think! How would I know that you are with child otherwise?»

Harry was distracted for a split second by the words 'with child' coming Malfoy's lips. They sounded delicate, almost tender. But then he shook his head.

«How _do_ you know?» he asked.

«There's a book in my family... an ancient magical object enchanted to show when a new Malfoy is on its way...»

Harry's mouth fell open. A new Malfoy? _No._

«It also shows the names of both parents, whether they know about it or not. Listen,» said Malfoy impatiently, «I can show you the book if you don't believe me.»

Well, Harry didn't _want_ to believe it. He was pregnant with Malfoy's child! He didn't want to even think about the implications of that. Did he actually choose Malfoy's sperm to conceive a child? What were the chances of that? But, surely, it was impossible. Malfoy wouldn't do something so muggle, would he? _'Oh, but what choice did he have when his family fell upon hard times and no friend in sight?'_ asked a tiny, snide voice in his head that sounded awfully like Phineas Nigellus. _'You heard the rumours. They have nothing left but the house.'_ Harry felt uncomfortable thinking about it. Though, maybe, not as uncomfortable as thinking about the fact that he unwittingly became pregnant with _Draco Malfoy's child_. He licked his lips and looked at Malfoy.

«So — er — what does it mean?» he asked awkwardly. «Why are you telling me this?» That's why he was so adamant that he should not know the name of the other father. He so didn't need to know that he managed to conceive the next Malfoy. Though, of course, it would Potter. «I wouldn't think that you would want to do anything with me or the child — unless, of course, you wish to use us in order to improve your family's standing in the eyes of the public — »

«Potter, don't flatter yourself,» interrupted Malfoy with a gurgling sound in his throat and a familiar sneer. «I have no intention of using you or your child in order to improve anything for public's sake... I do, however, require you to make an appearance in private.»

«I don't understand...»

Malfoy rubbed his forehead. «My father is not... has not... been well. I knew that I had to be very careful when I became the donor because of the book and because my father loves nothing better than to snuggle up with it. I had to check it on a regular basis and if there were new entries I would just delete them. However, after my father had one of his violent fits, during which he attacked and brutally maimed our house-elf Binky, I was sent to Azkaban in his stead and when I came back, it turned out that your name appeared in the book while I was gone and my father saw it before I could get my hands on it.»

Harry didn't know where this was going but he didn't interrupt. So it was true, he thought, Lucius Malfoy _was_ off his rocker.

«Now he thinks that we are — well — romantically involved and I'm afraid he wants to meet you. I could not tell him the truth.» Malfoy gulped. «He is not... right. It would kill him. Or us. I don't know.» He was talking to his hands now. «He is quite unpredictable these days, going from docile to volatile in no time. So... if you could come to the manor with me and pretend... just once... I would be... grateful.»

Harry didn't know what to say. The last time he was at Malfoy Manor — it wasn't exactly a fun-time experience and not something he would ever remember without bile rising up to his throat. Hermione was tortured there. Dobby received his fatal wound there. He and Malfoy had a scuffle there. A scuffle of paramount importance, as it turned out. The scuffle that, in a way, decided the outcome of the war. It was there that Harry disarmed Malfoy and became the true master of the Elder Wand...

Harry looked at Malfoy and felt pity and an overwhelming wish to help. He couldn't imagine what it cost Malfoy to talk about his father's health problems in front of him and, considering their history, ask him for help. He told him that he wasn't doing it for his own gain and Harry believed him. How much pride did he have to sacrifice to ask him for such a distasteful favour? He could do it, couldn't he? 'Are you mad?' Ron's incredulous voice popped into his head. 'Harry, this is Malfoy!' screeched Hermione's. He shook them off.

«I'll do it,» he said.

He didn't expect Malfoy to be grateful. That would be beyond stupid. But he thought he might look pleased or at the very least relieved. Instead, Malfoy looked livid.

«I don't need your pity,» he hissed.

Harry bristled. «Well, what else do you want me to feel?» he asked. «Disgust? Loathing? Indifference? Well, I'm sorry, Malfoy! I'm sorry I have feelings any normal person would have under the circumstances and I'm sorry that I'm not afraid to express them.»

«Always wearing your heart on your sleeve, do you?»

«Yeah, that's me. Harry Potter, the boy-who-always-wears-his-heart-on-his-sleeve. Happy?»

Malfoy just sneered harder.

«I feel sorry for you and your family, OK?» continued Harry. «And I'm sorry that I didn't do anything to help.»

Malfoy snorted.

«Was there anything you could do to help?» he asked with an affected air of indifference that didn't quite mask his curiosity.

Harry had to think about it. «Back then?» He shook his head. «No. I don't think so. Now?» He shrugged his shoulders. «I could give it a go.»

«Don't bother yourself, Potter,» Malfoy flung at him. «I'm not a charity case for you to take on and champion now that you don't have the wizarding world to save.»

«Fine!»

Harry was breathing heavily. He was angry and his anger could any moment get out from under his control and it was Malfoy's fault. He took a deep breath. Then again. Then one more. Why was it so difficult? He hadn't had any trouble before. But Harry knew why. He just had to take one look at Malfoy's arrogant face to know why. What was the point of dragging him out here, anyway?

«You asked for my help,» he said, forcing himself to speak calmly. «I agreed to help you. Now you reject my offer, because you took offence at my reaction, which is completely normal, by the way. So now what?»

He couldn't let his distress get to him and and effect his magic. But did Malfoy care? Did he care that if his magic failed to support the artificial womb, he would lose the baby? Perhaps, something of what he was feeling and thinking showed on his face, because Malfoy stirred uncomfortably in the chair opposite him.

«What's wrong, Potter? You look peaky.»

«None of your business,» snapped Harry. He wasn't going to coddle Malfoy. «I bet you don't care that sitting here and squabbling with you isn't good for my magic or the child growing inside me it is used to support.»

Malfoy looked sorry but didn't say anything. Harry hadn't expected him to. He had wasted enough time on him as it was. He needed to get away from him and do something relaxing. Hermione had made a list of relaxing things for him but as it included listening to classical music he so far ignored it. Maybe he should check it, after all? It was so long and boring it would put him to stupor right away.

«Do you accept my offer of help or not?» he asked challengingly, showing that he was about to stand up and leave.

Malfoy nodded.

«Thanks,» he added as an afterthought.

*

They arranged that Harry should come on Saturday. During a brief exchange that followed Harry stunned Malfoy by telling him that he was going to travell by car («A car? A muggle car? But you're a wizard!») from London all the way to Wiltshire. Harry had to explain that he couldn't use the usual magical means of transportation along with the majority of spells (apart from the simplest ones) at the moment due to the fact that his magic was engaged in supporting his child and the magical environment around it. Malfoy gave him a strange look that Harry couldn't make out and then said, «Then I'm coming with you.»

Harry spluttered. Then tried to talk him out of it. «Really, Malfoy, that's hardly necessary. I can manage on my own just fine. I came here all by myself, didn't I?» Malfoy wouldn't budge and Harry was rattled. «I don't need you to come with me out of pity or some sense of obligation that you think you should be feeling on my account,» he said in annoyance, «or because you think that you owe me. It's no big deal. And I'm not delicate or anything,» he pointed out warningly; it was a matter of principle. «You don't have to accompany me. I do it all the time these days.» Harry sighed; it was like talking to someone deaf. In the end he told Malfoy to meet him at Grimmauld Place.

Harry's car, though initially muggle, was enchanted to do different tricks, like gliding and weaving smoothly through the traffic at what would have been a very high speed if it wasn't accelerated by magic, completely unnoticed by muggle motorists, avoiding collisions, skipping traffic lights and outstripping other cars, after he had let Mr Weasley trinket with it to his heart's content. Harry had also let him enchant it to fly and install the Invisibility Booster, just in case, but was reluctant to actually fly it because he still very vividly remembered what happened the last time he had flown an enchanted car of his.

Malfoy stared at the car as though it was a Blast-Ended Skrewt and Harry had to stifle a laugh at the half-appalled, half-disgusted glare on his face. But he couldn't stifle the joke that followed. «It won't burn, sting or bite,» he said, remembering (not without a shudder) the ugliest creatures he had ever seen. «Get in.» Malfoy scowled. Then got in as elegantly as he could. Harry had to stifle another laught at the thought that Malfoy had probably grew up travelling by carriage and found such means way below him. «Tilly prepared a lunch-basket,» he said haughtily, showing a bulging wicker basket in his hands. Harry snickered. «So did Kreacher. Put it at the back,» he said, pointing at the back seat, where another enormous basket was already sitting. Harry noticed that Malfoy was studiously avoiding looking at his midriff, keeping his chin unnaturally high even for a Malfoy. Harry preferred to use a variation of a Disillusionment Charm at work to hide his already visible pregnancy but it was Hermione who usually cast it on him before work and, in any case, there was no point in hiding it from Malfoy.

Harry started up the engine and they began to move swiftly and smoothly through lukewarm morning traffic. It was a very awkward situation. Harry concentrated on the road but couldn't help throwing furtive glances at Malfoy, who was sitting as straight as though he had eaten a poker for breakfast. Harry could tell from what he could see of his face that he was impressed by how swiftly and smoothly they moved — glided a few inches above the ground even — along the streets. He could also tell that he wanted to ask something but obviously thought it beyond him to actually pose a question about something muggle. Harry decided to take pity on the poor blighter and told him about the difference a bit of magic made. Malfoy expressed his satisfaction by the fact that muggles couldn't come up with something so sophisticated and the conversation languished. But not for long.

«So... why wizarding sperm bank?» he asked all of a sudden in a most natural tone of voice.

Harry spluttered with embarrassment and indignation.

«Malfoy! You can't ask something like that!» he protested.

«I thought I just did,» drawled Malfoy, looking pleased with himself.

«Well — well — you shouldn't! That's none of your business, you know.»

«I beg to differ. Come on. Tell me. Don't be coy,» he coaxed. «I'm just curious. No, I'm baffled as to the reason why the Saviour of the Wizarding World whose amorous exploits are legendary (Harry winced and gritted his teeth) had to restore to the assistance of an anonymous donor at a wizarding sperm bank in order to have a child. I find it hard to believe that there wasn't a single willing witch to carry one for you or a single wizard to provide you with one. I remember the time when your name and that of your many paramours didn't leave the pages of the _Daily Prophet_. So what went wrong? What changed?»

Harry clamped his mouth shut as though afraid that Malfoy would try to prise it open in order to drag the words out of him. There had never been as many 'paramours' as people claimed there to be and most of the stories had been made up and sold to the paper by people who took offence at being rejected by the Saviour of the Wizarding World (Harry hated that title) once he understood that they only pursued him with their romantic overtures so that they could boast about it to their friends and families later. Enraged, many of them restored to what seemed to be a popular form of revenge against him — to have Rita Skeeter tell their fraught with lies story to the world.

«Potter,» said Malfoy with a long-suffering sigh as though Harry's silence had bored him out of his mind, «it will be a long ride. We might as well talk.»

«Sure, let's talk. But why about me?»

«Because if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess.»

«Oh, great! So this is my fault. Lovely.» Harry shook his head. «Unbelievable!» he muttered. «The nerve!» Then, casting a furious sideways look at Malfoy he was startled to see that his lips were twitching.

«Let me guess,» he said when he noticed that Harry was glaring at him, «you are afraid that I will tattle to the _Daily Prophet_. Is that it?»

Harry threw him a sharp look. How did he know what he had been thinking about? He wasn't using Legilimency on him or something?

«Will you?» he asked instead. «I mean, looking back, it didn't stop you before, did it? I remember the time when you practically worked as their freelance reporter, getting the scoop on me every other day.»

Malfoy scowled.

«I'm sure I'm not the same schoolboy we both used to know,» he said with obvious distaste. He probably didn't want to think back on his past choices and what they had ultimately led to and Harry regretted reminding him of it. Harry very much doubted that Malfoy's current lifestyle correspondent to what he had been raised to believe was his due.

«I guess not,» agreed Harry quietly.

«I no longer wish to harm you or to land you in trouble in order to prove something. I think life pretty much set the record straight,» said Malfoy bitterly and turned away to stare out of the window with so much determination Harry was surprised he hadn't made the glass explode.

Harry didn't say anything. His gut feeling and his Auror training were telling him that Malfoy was telling the truth and Harry was used to go with what they told him — most of the time. Besides, he hated to see people in pain or discomfort and do nothing about it. Malfoy was currently gripping the handle of the car door, looking like he was seriously contemplating jumping out of the window at any moment. Harry shook his head and decided that he might as well tell Malfoy the truth. He definitely looked like he could do with a laugh. Harry could give him that. He could be selfless. He had always been. At least that was what Hermione kept telling him with an air of exasparation after he had once again done something both brave and stupid.

She often said that she despaired at how little he thought of his own self, always putting other people's needs and comfort before his own and never wishing to trouble anyone with his own problems, dealing with them on his own and never letting anyone in with the only exception of her and Ron. As it turned out, he wasn't all wrong about keeping people at an arm's length. There were precious few people he could really trust. He also learned a long time ago that people who were interested in dating him wanted Harry to continue to be the hero and a saviour, but that they would drop him like a sprout of a Venomus Tentacula in rare cases when he needed them to be there for him.

Harry sighed and launched his story. After all, if any of it once again resurfaced in the papers, he would know where to look for the leak and he knew enough nasty spells by now to make Malfoy sorry; once the baby was born, of course.

Despite the awkward beginning, the drive was not as bad as Harry had feared it would be, all things considered. In fact, sometimes it was even quite nice. He was surprised to find Malfoy not such a bad company either, when he wasn't his usual arrogant, stuck-up self, that is. They even enjoyed a few laughs remembering their boyhood at Hogwarts; the surprised way Malfoy looked when he laughed told Harry that he hadn't done it in a long while. They also had to decide what to tell Malfoy's father if he asked them how and when their 'romance' began. That proved difficult because their paths hadn't crossed in the last ten years. But, despite the fact that theoretically the chances of their meeting were very slim, they decided that a chance meeting in Diagon Alley should serve the purpose.

«Will your father buy it though?» asked Harry, wondering just how sick was old Lucius.

«He's not in his — I mean — he's not all there. And he is enamoured with the idea that I managed to align myself with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Thinks our alliance will bring our family back on top.» Malfoy shook his head sadly. «He'll believe anything that we say. Mother knows the truth. She'll be playing along. I...» Malfoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. Harry looked at him but he was once again staring straight ahead, his jaw working hard over what he was about to say. «Potter, I do appreciate what you're doing,» he said at last.

Harry nodded but didn't say anything; there was no point in embarrassing him any further. Malfoy was holding himself so awkwardly it was like he wasn't used to human interaction outside the walls of the manor. Harry found himself trying to make him feel at his ease by recounting funny or absurd cases he had to deal with as an Auror.

At long last they were driving along a straight lane, surrounded by ancient-looking trees, that curved into a wide driveway with tall yew hedges on both sides. They went through a pair of wrought-iron gates that opened when Malfoy pointed his wand at them and muttered something complicated under his breath. The car trudged along the gravel path that crackled unpleasantly in the silence and finally brought them to a handsome manor.

Harry parked the car at the foot of the front steps and got out. 'Well, this is weird...' he thought to himself. Malfoy climbed the stairs and Harry followed him, trying hard not to think that last time that he was here he was brought in as a prisoner by Snatchers. The front doors opened inwards of their own accord and they found themselves in a large, dimly lit, sumptuously decorated hallway. Harry gazed at the pale-faced portraits on the walls that looked down their pointed noses at him and noted how soft was a magnificent carpet beneath his feet that covered most of the stone floor. «In here,» said Malfoy, leading them through a heavy wooden door into the next room.

Malfoy's parents were waiting for them in the drawing-room. Harry told himself not to stare no matter what met his eye. In truth, he didn't know what to expect. He had an instant image of Gilderoy Lockhart in his mind, trying to force his autograph on him with a battered peacock-feather quill and boasting that he could do joined-up writing now. Would Lucius Malfoy ask him to look at his collection of newspaper clippings about Voldemort and his rise to power or hand him 'Join the Death Eaters' leaflets or something? But then his mind wasn't damaged by a spell, was it? Harry was relieved when his worries didn't come to pass.

Lucius Malfoy, with his grey hair in a ponytail, was sitting in an armchair by the fire, a blanket wrapped around his legs, looking serene and benevolent like he had never looked when he was in his right mind, not a trace of smugness or arrogance on his face; Narcissa Malfoy, her blond hair done upwards in layers that reminded Harry a slowly melting cake, was standing at his side like a statue in a floor-length silver dress, holding his hand, a fiercely protective look on her face. Harry thought that she looked like a dragon guarding her eggs. He wasn't surprised. Lucius smiled when they walked further into the room, his expression somewhat vague; Narcissa merely nodded.

«Welcome to Malfoy Manor,» she said curtly with an icy accent that was equivalent to a ghost passing through him. Harry noticed that she barely moved her lips and wondered if she was training to become a ventriloquist.

«Mr. Potter!» exclaimed her husband jovially. «Welcome. Welcome!» Harry would have never believed that he would be welcomed with so much good nature and enthusiasm by Lucius Malfoy of all people. His life was very strange sometimes. «How very fine it is of Draco to have finally brought you here,» he said. «I only wish that he wouldn't have thought it necessary to keep you away from us for so long. We are so happy. So utterly happy for you!»

Harry felt deeply uncomfortable. He nodded his head, mumbling 'Thanks' and noting that Mrs. Malfoy looked anything but happy at such course of events. Mafoy moved to stand closer to him so that their shoulders and elbows brushed and Lucius beamed at them.

«Excellent! Excellent!»

«I believe you must be tired after the journey,» said Narcissa Malfoy coldly, obviously disapproving of their travelling arrangements, now regarding her son with a shrewd expression. «Tilly has laid the table with refreshments in the dining-room.» She made a majestic motion with her hand in the direction of another set of doors Harry hadn't noticed before. «Draco, why don't you take our guest there? Father and I will join you shortly.»

Draco nodded and put his hand on the small of Harry's back, making him jump and stare at him with wild eyes.

«Shall we, Harry?» murmured Draco in a low, intimate croon that sent undesirable shivers down Harry's spine. He was giving him a meaningful look, his eyebrows raised, as he steered him sideways. Harry took a deep breath and nodded — somewhat belatedly.

He realized that they hadn't discussed that. It made sense, of course, to attempt to show their intimacy through private things like touches and looks, but Harry hadn't really counted on that. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him with the intention of being intimate with him and he had to remind himself now, very strictly, that Malfoy's only intention was to keep his father blissfully unaware that he and Harry barely knew each other and had only just learned to stand each other's guts.

Harry couldn't remember being in a more surreal or uncomfortable situation than when sharing a meal with the Malfoys and talking about his and Mafoy's child and their fake future plans. He was alarmed when Malfoy Senior, having enquired about their living arrangements once the child was born, insisted that they should move to Malfoy Manor.

«London is not a place for a child to be raised,» he said, dolefully shaking his head, when Harry described his current whereabouts. «But I can assure you that you will find nothing wanting here,» he said with an eager nod, his eyes shining at the prospect. «I daresay we have enough room for as many children as you wish to have in future (Harry's eyes widened) and the grounds are quite extensive and obscured from sight if the child proves to be keen on flying.» He looked meaningfully at the both of them. «Besides, Tilly is an excellent nurse and I dare you to find a better house-elf for the job.»

He looked so hopeful Harry almost hated himself for telling him that they had no plans to move to the manor, but he could not let him reside under any more false notions, because there was no way he was moving there under pretense even for a short while. Lucius looked heartbroken. Harry lowered his eyes and stared at the plate before him. Why should he care about what he thought, anyway? He didn't care much about people he helped torture and kill under Voldemort's regime of terror. But he was helpless and childish now and Harry could never be cruel to someone like that.

«But London! This is not a place for a child to grow! A savage place. Perfectly savage. Do you not agree, Narcissa, darling?»

Narcissa murmured something that could have been an agreement or a soothing nonsense to calm her husband down. Harry didn't know because he couldn't look either in the face.

«Father,» said Malfoy and Harry was startled when his hand covered his, «Harry and I would prefer to establish our own household, but we mean to find a house in the country. Not a manor, of course. But, perhaps, a nicely-sized cottage...»

Harry nodded. He had been indeed contemplating finding a house in the country or even building one himself and it was funny that Malfoy should say that. Harry was remaining at Grimmauld Place out of love and loyalty to Sirius; even though the latter hated the place it seemed like the only connection left for Harry to cling on to. Kreacher made it as welcome, warm and comfortable as Harry could have wished for himself, never having too high standards of living conditions in the first place. For him anything that wasn't a cupboard under the stairs was already a huge improvement. But for the baby... He had to think of the baby now and he thought that it would be really nice to try and find a fine house somewhere with lots of trees and a maybe a brook, somewhere on the edge of the forest... or in the valley, with the view of the mountains...

«Harry?»

Harry looked up at the sound of Malfoy's soft voice next to his ear. He had to admit that he did a good job acting the part. Harry noticed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were looking at him as though they had asked him a question and were waiting for him to reply. What did he miss?

«Yes?» he asked, turning to Malfoy for some clarification.

«Father needs to rest for a bit. However, he wishes us to remain a while longer. Would you like to have a tour of the manor in the meantime?» he asked.

«I'd like that,» said Harry, thinking it rude to refuse and to point out that it was getting late and that he had a long ride back home. His heart clenched every time he looked at Lucius's childishly excited face. Harry could never have imagined that he would feel so much pity for someone he once loathed and despised or desire to please him for the sake of his son who, by the way, was already hovering next to his chair, holding out his hand, apparently expecting Harry to lean on it. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. He thanked Lucius and Narcissa for their hospitality and stood up, staring pointedly at Malfoy's hand. It fell limply to his side. Harry was about to smile at this small victory when Malfoy grabbed his wrist and tugged him along. «Come on,» he mumbled, not meeting his eye.

Harry expected the manor to be as pompous as its inhabitants. But he found that it was a very nice house with a welcoming atmosphere and without ostentatious display of its owners' pure-bloodedness. He liked its spacious, well-tended rooms that didn't have a neglected air about them that some of the rooms still held at Grimmauld Place despite Kreacher's vigorous scrubbing and cleaning. Instead they gave an impression of warmth and comfort with its carpeted floors, rich draperies of soft hues, deep armchairs with fluffy pillows, shining glass-fronted cabinets with fancy china, mahogany bookcases and marble mantelpieces (some with friendly fires roaring in their grates) among other things.

Harry followed Malfoy along wide halls of the manor, lined with lovely paintings of natural sights rather than snooty portraits of his ancestors, open galleries and floor-length glass doors that led into the grounds. They spent some time roaming the grounds too, walking among meticulously-carved hedges, then took one of the many alleys, spanned by a series of archways of interwoven boughs and vines that led them back to the front of the house. Harry caught glimpses of white stone statues and at least one silent fountain and Malfoy told him with a proud note in his voice that they used to have peacocks strutting about and even a pair of winged horses. «I would have liked to see that,» murmured Harry. Malfoy gave him a small smile, looking pleased.

It was getting dark and small lanterns (or what Harry took to be lanterns at first) began to light up the paths and shine here and there. Then, at a closer inspection he realized what it was and his jaw dropped.

«Fairies?» he asked. «Real live fairies?»

Malfoy shrugged. «They always liked it here,» he explained simply.

Harry shook his head in amazement and was even surprised to find that he was reluctant to leave the place. He could even imagine coming here with the baby, running around in the grounds that looked like a maze, playing hide-and-seek, chasing fairies... Of course, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy weren't the kind of grandparents that he had in mind when he was dreaming of having a large family but then he never expected to carry Draco Malfoy's child either. It took a moment or two for Harry to remember that this was all just for show and that neither he nor his child would set foot here ever again. For some reason this thought made him feel strangely hollow inside.

They returned to the house and proceeded back to the drawing-room where a table was laid with tea, sandwishes, cakes and a bowl of fruit. Harry thought that he might as well have some tea with cake before going back home. Half an hour later, during which time he was subjected to a lecture on what it was like to be a Malfoy and what was his future child's due (he stoically endured it), Harry stood up, fully intending to take his leave and never come back. The thought, he noted, didn't cheer him up. Narcissa and Draco stood up too. Narcissa looked like she couldn't wait for him to leave. Draco (Harry wondered at what point he started thinking of him as Draco) looked worried.

«It's late. I shall come with you,» he said, glancing at the dark window, looking for all intents and purposes as if it was his fault that it was so dark outside.

Harry was about to protest that he would manage just fine when Lucius spoke up. «But why should anyone be going anywhere tonight?» he asked in utter incomprehension. «I'm sure we have enough room to accommodate Mr. Potter for the night. Frankly, I'm surprised at you, Draco,» he admonished. «I would assume that now that we know the truth you would not scruple to press Mr. Potter to stay the night.»

Harry narrowed his eyes. He had sounded quite normal but even as he looked at him he saw that he was wearing the same childish expression as though waiting on a treat and fully expecting to get it as a direct result of his touchingly sweet antics, his face brimming with eagerness and excitement. Harry wondered if it was all an act or just a lucid phase. Draco, after all, was quite good at playacting. Harry noticed Narcissa and Draco having an entirely non-verbal conversation, exchanging glances that they seemed to have no trouble interpreting. The next moment Draco turned to Harry with the look of a person bracing himself for something unpleasant and Harry knew what was to follow.

«Father is right, Harry,» said Draco in the same soft manner he seemed to adopt when playing a loving partner. «It has been a long day. I don't think it is wise for you to travel all the way back to London so late and in your present con — »

Harry's nostrils flared. Present condition! _Oh, no, you don't..._

«There's nothing _wrong_ with my present condition, _Draco_ ,» he gritted out. «You know perfectly well that I am fully capable of driving back home.»

Draco gave him a dazzling smile that made Harry's breath hitch.

«Of course, you are, Harry,» he said soothingly as though he was the mad one here. «But is there any reason that you should...» he added, lowering his voice to the same intimate croon as before.

 _Bastard._ Harry took a deep breath. He wanted to throttle Malfoy, who was now smirking smugly at him, but he couldn't stand the pathetic look on his father's face and, glancing at his mother, he was sure that she would find a very painful way to torture and kill him afterwards if he so much as upset her husband. Harry sighed and agreed. However, he regretted his decision as soon as he learned that he and Draco would be sharing a room — and a bed.

«Well, what did you expect?» hissed Draco quietly, tugging him out of the room away from beaming Lucius and narrow-eyed Narcissa. «Do you think he would suggest that we should sleep in separate rooms until the wedding night what with the child on the way?»

Harry had to agree that it would have been stupid but that didn't mean that he had to like the idea of sharing a bed with Malfoy.

Malfoy's room was large and done in different shades of green. Harry noticed that the pattern on olive-green walls was that of tiny snakes forming different shapes, among which crowns were the most prominent. There was an enormous bed in the middle of the room, covered with a moss-coloured, velvet-looking bedspread, its wrought-iron headboard stacked with pillows. Harry also noticed that the window-sill was wide enough to serve as a sofa; there was a thick light green coverlet on top of it and an abundance of cushions. Harry eyed it with interest. It would probably be a strain on his back but he could manage; it was just for one night. Malfoy intercepted his look and shook his head.

«No one is sleeping there,» he said with distate. «We'll be sharing a bed. It's no big deal.» Harry begged to differ; he hadn't shared a bed with anyone in a very long time for it not to be a big deal for him. Even if it was in a purely non-sexual way. «I swear, Potter,» added Malfoy dramatically, actually batting his eyelashes at him, «your virtue is safe with me.»

Harry scowled. «I'm not worried about my virtue,» he snapped.

«No, of course not. How silly of me. I mean, you are pregnant, after all...»

«I'm so happy this is a source of amusement to you — !»

Malfoy (Harry was happy to note that he was back to calling him Malfoy in his head) sniggered. «Anyway,» he said, «we'll be sleeping in bed, together, because I'm pretty sure that father entrusted one of the elves with the task of reporting back to him.»

Harry frowned.

«He seemed normal to me.» There had always been rumours that Lucius Malfoy faked his condition in order to avoid spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. «Well, apart from the fact that he's over the moon at the fact that we're 'together'...»

Malfoy snorted and shook his head.

«I guess that should tell you just how not normal he is.»

«I guess...»

«What side do you prefer to sleep on?» asked Malfoy brusquely.

Harry flushed and shrugged.

In the end, he lay down as far away from Malfoy as he could without actually falling off the bed. Malfoy shook his head and muttered, «Potter, you're an idiot». Maybe he was right. Because when Harry opened his eyes the next morning, he found himself nose to nose with Malfoy. He had a very nice dream. He couldn't remember what it was about but it made him feel really good; peaceful and happy. Still, when Harry saw Malfoy lying on his side, supporting himself on an elbow and staring at him, his first instinct was to bolt out of bed and put as much distance between them as he could. But that would only make the smug bastard gloat, thought Harry; so he remained where he was, reluctantly blinking the sleep and the pleasure it had brought away.

«Have you been staring at me all night?» he asked. He felt a blush flooding his cheeks and tried not to squirm at the intense look on Malfoy's face.

«No.»

«Good. It would be totally creepy. What?» he asked when he noticed that Malfoy's gaze had travelled from his face to his abdomen, where a rather prominent bump was visible from under the covers. Malfoy appeared to be mesmerised by what he saw and Harry's blush intensified.

«How does it work?» he asked curiously, slowly moving his hand — as though in a trance — so that it hovered above the bump.

Harry explained about the spell that had been cast on him in order to create an artifically-friendly environment for the fetus to form and to grow in and how most of his magic was channelled to support it.

«Can — can I touch it?» asked Malfoy hesitently, his eyes never leaving the bump.

Harry blinked.

«I suppose...»

He held his breath, watching nervously as Malfoy slowly and carefully put his hand on top of his protruding belly. He gasped. The baby had stirred and come to life beneath Mafloy's palm. It shifted. Malfoy's eyes widened and his hand began to tremble. He looked up at Harry, visibly trying to compose himself and to school his features into a mask of indifference. It didn't work. He looked stunned and there were two pinks spots on his pale face.

«Does — » he cleared his throat several times « — does this happen every time?»

Harry shook his head.

«It doesn't happen when mediwizards do that. It only ever happens when I do it. It probably recognized your signature or something...»

Malfoy stared at him in awe and wonder. Harry gave him a small smile and put his hand on top of his. Malfoy lowered his gaze back. The next moment the baby shifted again as though greeting them both. Harry and Draco looked at each other and grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione where he was going, hoping that they would be too busy visiting Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over the weekend to drop by Grimmauld Place to check up on him. But when he returned home on Sunday afternoon in a mellow mood, having rather enjoyed his ride back home with Malfoy, he was greeted by a scene greatly reminiscent of the one that took place many years ago, when Ron, Fred and George flew Mr. Weasley's enchanted car to Privet Drive and back to the Burrow in order to rescue Harry from the Dursleys.

Hermione, with her hands on her hips and her bushy hair flying out of her bun, like electrified coils of wire, was raging at him for at least five minutes ( _«Harry, where — have — you — been? We've been worried sick. No note! Car gone! We didn't know what to think! But did you care?»_ ) before Ron managed to put out the fire of her fury and make her sit down and give Harry a break. Harry had briefly contemplated casting Aguamenti at her but was relieved that it didn't come to that.

Hermione continued to glare at him but remained entirely silent, not taking into account her nostrils that continued to do the talking. Not for long, thought Harry right before telling them about Malfoy's letter, their meeting, his visit to Malfoy Manor, the night that he spent there and the baby's reaction to Malfoy's touch. He ommitted just one tiny detail — that he had spent the night in Malfoy's bed. Their reaction was quite predictable. Ron was revolted. Hermione horrified. Both were shocked to the highest degree. Hermione actually spent several minutes trying to come up with something she could form into a coherent sentence.

«But you're not going to meet him again, are you?» she asked at last, apparently having overcome her painful internal battle. Merlin knew what it cost her. «Harry?»

Harry averted his gaze. He still regretted not inviting Malfoy in once he parked the car on the square in front of Grimmauld Place. Instead of working up the courage to do so after an awkward good-bye that took place, he watched as Malfoy disapparated a few paces away, leaving him with a sense of loss and disorientation that continued to linger on. Harry strongly suspected that the moment Malfoy had touched his belly and the baby reacted to his touch they had formed a kind of bond that he vaguely remembered reading about in one of the leaflets. He had paid no attention to it back then, thinking that he would have no occasion to deal with such an issue, but he thought that he should probably read up on it now that he felt a sort of deep-seated yearning for Draco's presence near him. How crazy was that? Was there a way to stop it? Maybe a spell or a potion? Did he even want to make it stop? Or did he want to meet Draco again?

Ron was thinking along the same lines, though with completely different sentiments attached to it. «Mate?» he said as silence stretched on. «Blimey, don't tell me that you're actually considering keeping in touch with that Death Eater scumbag! I thought you didn't want to know the identity of the other father — »

«But I do know it now, don't I, and I can't pretend that this — » Harry pointed at his belly « — didn't happen. The baby recognized him, Ron. You must know what that's like. I can't forget it.»

Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak. Harry knew that she had probably come up with some solid counter-argument to his little speech but felt that he was approaching a dangerous level of agitation and distress and plainly told them so, not ashamed to use it as an excuse to get out of such a disagreeable conversation. Hermione's mouth snapped shut and her narrow-eyed look was instantly replaced by a look of deepest concern; Ron looked uncomfortable at his outburst and proceeded to apologize. Harry gave them a wan smile and told them that it was fine and that he understood how they felt.

He knew that there were still a lot of things they wanted to discuss but, of course, they would not attempt it now. Harry thought that he was probably looking the part, because Hermione, now alarmed, insisted on his going upstairs to have rest, while Kreacher, who appeared at that moment in the drawing-room, insisted that he should go downstairs to the kitchen to have his dinner first. Harry didn't argue with either. Ron and Hermione didn't attempt to broach the subject again during the meal that followed, preferring to discuss other things, but Harry knew that he hadn't heard the end of it.

Sure enough, a few days later, they once again descended upon him; Hermione had a particularly steely look in her eyes on the occasion.

«So... did he contact you again?» she briskly asked after a short preliminary chit-chat introduced by Ron.

Harry shook his head. He had hoped that Malfoy would but he knew better than to confess it out loud in quite such a manner.

«I think... I think I would like to know him better,» he said instead, much to Hermione's dismay and Ron's disgusted astonishment.

«That stinking bag of dragon dung? Oh, come on, Harry! Do you even remember who we're talking about? Draco-bleeding-Malfoy!»

Harry sighed and put on a tight smile.

«Ron, I know exactly who we're talking about. I remember every mean thing that he ever did to us back at Hogwarts. But it's been years! I think it's time to let go of the past and to face the fact that things have changed. I believe that he's changed — and it's about time someone gave him a chance.»

Ron spluttered and waved his long arms in protest.

«But why you?» he wondered.

«Because whether you like it or not, Ron, he is the father of my child and my child happens to know and like it!» snarled Harry.

Ron shook his head, speechless.

«But he hasn't contacted you again,» repeated Hermione as though that settled the matter.

«No,» said Harry, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. He wouldn't look at them now, because the sight of Hermione's satisfied face and Ron's jubilant one made him sick.

In fact, Harry was ashamed at the degree the thought of Draco's not contacting him again upset him. He never promised that he would. They had settled at the outset that Harry's invitation to Malfoy Manor was a one-time thing rather than a permanent arrangement. So why did he attempt to convince himself otherwise? And why did it matter if they never saw each other again? He had been alone for far too long, that what the matter was, thought Harry bitterly. It seemed that loneliness, need and desperation for another human being in his life had finally caught up with him. That was it. And also the fact that he did spend a surprisingly good time with Malfoy, especially on their way back. It was like they had reached some unspoken agreement after having a shared experience of their child shifting and kicking beneath their joined hands.

«Harry, what about your interview with Susan Bones?» asked Hermione gently, bringing him out of his thoughts.

«I haven't contacted her yet,» he admitted.

Hermione began to swell.

«Harry James Potter — »

«But I will!»

Ron sniggered. Harry grabbed a cushion from an armchair he was sitting on and threw it at him. The cushion shrank to the size of a muffin millimetres from Ron's face and forced itself into his mouth — thus effectively shutting him up. Now Ron was too busy as he struggled to push it down his throat.

Apparently not trusting him to do it on his own, Hermione made Harry write and send the letter to Susan in her presence under her watchful eye. Harry felt like he was back at Hogwarts, doing a belated piece of homework Susan's reply was prompt and they agreed to meet a few days later.

Harry was nervous about the interview. By now he was used to giving press conferences and be interviewed on particularly publicised cases, but he had an almost inherent distaste for spilling his guts and talking about his private affairs in a public way. Not knowing what to expect, Harry prepared himself for a Rita Skeeter type of onslaught with her ever present Quick Quotes Quill. But Susan's technique was fundamentally different; she seemed to know what she was doing and not only managed to make him feel quite at his ease but also managed to make him open up for the most part. Harry had decided before the interview to keep the nature of his pregnancy to himself and to present the story in such a way as though he had finally found someone special with whom he wanted to have children and spend the rest of his life.

Susan looked plumper and much more matronly than he remembered; her thick reddish plait was wrapped around her head and the expression on her pink-cheeked face was kind and cheerful.

«Well, we're reaching the end of our interview, Harry,» she said with a smile about an hour later, riffling through the sheets of parchment that covered the table in the drawing-room of Grimmauld Place, where Harry arranged for the interview to take place. Harry sighed with relief, which made her giggle. They had already covered the basics of his condition and Susan wanted in addition to his bit interview an expert on the subject in order to shed more light on the male pregnancy and its processes that many in the wizarding world still found obscure and regarded with fear and distrust. «But I do have a couple more questions to ask you, if you don't mind.» Harry didn't. «Good. First of all, I'm sure the readers of my page would want to know why you've decided to have the baby now — one might say when you are on the very peak of your Auror career? I've heard it said that you are slated to become the next Head of Auror Department. Is there truth to such reports?»

«Well, if it is — then I can still make it,» replied Harry with a shrug. «I don't need to work in the field to become the head of our department and I can solve crimes from home as well as from the office. In fact, now that I've had to spend so much time at my desk, I've been doing some work on a project that, hopefully, will help revolutionize our department, if you will. However, back to your original question — I have to say that it has been long in coming. I have always wanted to have a family and now seemed like the perfect time. I love my job but I believe that my main priority will always be my family.»

Susan beamed at him amid scribbling down his words.

«And the final question: will we get to meet or at the very least to know the name of your special someone?»

Harry coloured slightly. He cleared his throat. «Well — er — maybe during the next interview...?»

Susan laughed.

«Thank you, Harry. It was a pleasure to see you again and to talk to you. I think I've got enough stuff for a page-spread. Do you wish me to supply the interview with your photo?» she asked as she began to pack her things. «I'm quite good with the camera if you don't want to pose for our staff photographer...»

Harry shook his head.

«I don't think that'll be necessary. People know how I look.» Unfortunately, he thought to himself. «But I could send you one of the photos I had to make for one of my cases a few months ago. They aren't moving, because we had to infiltrate a muggle establishment, but I think one of them could go well with the piece. I'll send you several so that you have some to choose from.»

«That's decided then,» said Susan jovially. «I'll keep in touch.»

The interview came out a week later and caused the wizarding community to go into a real frenzy. Harry had to put up strong wards around the house to stop hordes of owls penetrating inside through doors, walls, windows and chimneys. Kreacher was beside himself with fury and whacked a first few owls that brazenly made their way through an open upstairs window with a broom he was using at the time to mop the floor. Everybody seemed shocked by the fact that Harry Potter was carrying a child himself and everybody wanted to know the mysterious identity of his imaginary 'special someone'. There had been so much open staring and whispering, just like in the old days, that Harry had to take a few days off work until the turmoil subsided and he could walk through the Ministry of Magic without causing everyone and everything to freeze.

It was probably a good thing too, because it forced him to admit that he needed to take a holiday and to spend more time at home just resting, because he was definitely beginning to feel the side-effects of his condition that directly effected his efficiency at work. For one thing, constant demand on his magic was taking its toll both on his body and mind, draining him of his energy and putting some sort of block on his ability to concentrate long enough to come up with more or less feasible hypothesis. For another, he was growing really big and slow and though he had been assured that he wouldn't become 'very big', having always been on the skinny side, he found that he still was much bigger than he felt comfortable being. Harry had never expected it to bother him as he had never been vain and never had a high opinion of his looks, but it certainly did, making him moody and irritable whenever he couldn't do something because of it or whenever he caught the sight of himself in the mirror. Besides, he just hated people staring and pointing at him and it was better to avoid any additional stress that could lead to him snapping by removing himself from its source altogether.

Due to the fact that it was magically achieved, male pregnancy was different from natural pregnancy in many ways — but the major difference was that Harry would not have to actually give birth to the child himself. Harry sometimes wondered if he would have agreed to conceive a child in the first place if he knew that he would have to go through an actual labour. However, with male pregnancy, from what Harry could tell from pictures and diagrams on the subject, it was like carrying an elliptic sphere inside an artificially formed environment, that imitated a womb, within which a child was forming and growing during nine months.

The time of birth was calculated and fixed upon from the moment of conception and when it arrived, 'the egg' (as Harry referred to it) would be detached from the artificial womb, unsealed by means of an incision and the baby would be extracted from within, while the remnants of the magical environment would be cleared away by spells. Harry would have to remain at the facility for several days to make sure that no residue of alien magic remained inside of him and that the child was developing normally. Then, Harry would finally take his baby home. Harry sighed. He was beyond happy to have the baby and he hadn't changed his mind about that but his determination to raise the child alone had been somewhat weakened by his interaction with Malfoy and however intangible possibility of what it could be like not to have to do it all by himself.

*

About a week after the interview come out, Harry was in his room, half-heartedly leafing through a catalogue he was supposed to be ordering baby stuff from with an actual pout on his face. He should have done it a long time ago but hadn't gone round to doing it, mainly because he didn't want to do it alone — one more thing he hadn't counted on when he decided to have the baby on his own. He was just thinking about how long he would be able to keep up the charade of having found someone and wondering whether he would have to announce that they broke up or ask Malfoy to pose as his boyfriend (a favour for a favour) when Kreacher popped on the rug in the middle of the room and announced that Master Draco was outside the house.

Harry got up (though neither as quickly nor as nimbly as he would have wished to) and moved to the window from which he could see the square in the middle of Grimmauld Place. Draco Malfoy was indeed milling about in the street, looking suspiciously at the numbers of the houses before him. Harry smiled. His heart sped up. He asked Kreacher to let him inside and bring him into the drawing-room. Harry himself stayed at the window long enough to watch Malfoy's face transform into a look of surprise when a gleaming wooden door (that had long since replaced an old battered one) emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed by brick walls and draped windows, sparkling in the sun. The next moment the door opened and Malfoy stepped inside. By the time Harry reached the drawing-room, Malfoy was pacing back and forth.

«Has something happened?» asked Harry with a frown. «Is my presence required at the manor again?» The moment he said it Harry cursed himself for sounding so hopeful. How pathetic was he?

Malfoy stopped his pacing and looked at Harry in a startled way. One wuld think he is surprised to see me in my own house, thought Harry. Then Malfoy made a jerky motion with his head as though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to nod or to shake it.

«Father has been asking about you,» he replied, «but that's not why I'm here.»

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at him; he could feel his heartbeating accelerate. Malfoy hesitated. Harry forced himself to remain silent, clenching his hands into fists in order not to show his impatience.

«I know that we both intended to remain anonymous,» said Malfoy at long last, «but now that we both know — it changes everything. I've been thinking about what happened when I... when the baby moved...» He was looking at Harry with a fierce expression in his grey eyes. Harry stared back, holding his breath. «I understand that you've probably made other plans and arrangements but I want you to know that I want to be a part of... I mean... I want to be there for you and the child. I know that I don't have much to offer at present but I've been making enquiries and I think I may have a chance at securing a position as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts. They are looking for someone with an expertise in rare Dark Magic artifacts and I think I might be of use. It was in the Daily Prophet. Maybe you've seen it,» he was babbling now. «They've discovered a cavern concealed inside a cave somewhere in France, full of cursed gold coins and objects and as I know French...» he trailed off and shook his head, his gaze now fixed on Harry's large belly. «In any case, I want you to know that I'm willing to do anything to — »

Later, Harry always claimed that it was the baby that pushed him forward and made him press his lips against Malfoy's. Harry was sure that he would never have done it on his own. Malfoy was momentarily stunned into numbness but came back to life almost at once and eagerly returned the kiss. What happened next was an intense succession of pleasurable sensations that filled Harry's mouth, shut off his brain and went straight to his groin. He might have wound his arms around Malfoy's neck. Malfoy might have wrapped his arms around him or put them on his belly. Harry could never tell afterwards. But one thing was certain: the baby was quite happy, cheering them on all the way.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, both wearing slightly cross-eyed looks and silly grins. Somewhere at the back of his mind Harry thought that they should probably talk about such a drastic turn of events because it would inevitably effect their further relationship. However, a moment later it occurred to him that the fact that Malfoy had expressed a desire to be a part of his and their baby's life didn't in any way indicate his interest in pursuing an intimate relationship with Harry. The thought that he forced Malfoy into something against his will was very sobering. Harry turned guilty red and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Malfoy was frowning.

«What's the matter?» he asked sharply. «What happened?»

«I'm sorry,» mumbled Harry, avoiding his gaze. «I didn't mean to jump you. I'm sure that's probably not what you meant when you said that you wanted to be part of our life and I shouldn't have done that. Listen,» he said, finally looking up at him and flinching at the furious look in Malfoy's eyes, «I don't want you to think that you're obliged to indulge me in any way. This — » he touched his lips that continued to tingle « — is not a condition. I had no right to do it and I'm sorry that I've assumed that you would be interested...»

Malfoy's face relaxed. «Potter, do you hear me complaining?» he drawled. Harry shook his head. «Then what seems to be the problem?» «Well, I just think that it's too fast, for one. And I really shouldn't have done it without making sure that you were OK with it first.» «I see. Well, you've already apologized for that. However, no apologies are necessary. I didn't mind and I didn't feel forced and I can assure you that I wouldn't have gone with it if I didn't want it — just so you granted me access to the child.»

«Good.» Harry smiled in relief. «As long as we're clear on that. I don't want you to think that you owe me anything or that I'm expecting something from you by way of — I don't know — payment or something...»

Malfoy's lips twitched. «I shall keep that in mind. Anything else?»

«Er...»

Harry bit his lower lip. Malfoy stepped closer, leaned forward and intitiated the second kiss.

«Does this answer your question?» he murmured against Harry's lips, when they broke apart again, now caressing Harry's jawline.

«I think so,» whispered Harry, leaning into his touch. He gulped. «You should probably know that I haven't been with anyone like that in a very long time.»

He didn't meet Malfoy's eye as he said it.

«Then I'll be gentleness itself. But there's really no rush. We will take it as slow as you want.»

Harry blushed even more.

«Er — do you want to go to Diagon Alley to shop for baby stuff?» he blurted out. Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry was pleased to note that he was no longer the only one who'd lost his composure. «Mrs. Weasley made me a list of things I'll need. I wanted to get them through mail order but never got around to it... so...?»

«What — now?»

Harry shrugged.

«Well, why not? You said you wanted to be part of our life, didn't you?»

«Yes! But — »

«So what's the problem? Plus, it'll get Hermione off my back. She's been badgering me about doing the shopping for months now.»

Malfoy regarded him gravely. «You do realize that if we step out together, shopping for baby stuff of all things, they will automatically assume that we are an item and that I'm that 'special someone' you spoke about in the interview?»

«Does that bother you?» asked Harry.

Malfoy shook his head. Harry grinned. «Then quit stalling!»

«But are you sure about that? Have you thought it through?»

«I've been doing nothing but thinking about it — you — me — the baby — ever since our trip back to London.» Harry decided to be completely honest with him.

Malfoy's pale cheeks turned slightly pink and his eyes gleamed.

«Me too,» he confessed.

«Good. Let's go then! We have lots of stuff to buy. Not to mention witches and wizards to shock!»

Malfoy shook his head but followed Harry out of the room. It was hard not to follow him, considering that Harry grabbed his wrist and dragged him along. Before leaving the house, Harry called Kreacher and asked him to make dinner for two. Then, turning to Draco, he asked, «You will stay, won't you? We have things to discuss and plans to make.» Draco nodded.

Their appearance together, hand in hand, so soon after the interview, that was still fresh in everyone's mind, caused a major uproar, leaving no one in any doubt that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were together. Harry enjoyed repelling questions that began to pour from all sides but let Draco fend for himself too, especially when they asked him about his Death Eater past, his father's crimes against both muggle and wizarding communities and if he wasn't afraid that his future child would inherit his inclinations towards the dark side.

«You're giddy,» remarked Draco as Harry strutted along the cobbled street, open-mouthed stares bouncing off him like snowballs that Fred and George had once upon a time bewitched to follow Quirrel around and to bounce off the back of his turban. «And you're glowing.»

«Must be the baby,» said Harry and yelped when Draco drew him close and began to ravish. He was dimly aware of flashes of cameras going off all around them. «I think that's enough shopping for today,» mumbled Harry when he had the use of his mouth again.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him.

«But we haven't bought anything,» he pointed out.

Harry shrugged, finding it hard to focus on the words when he continued to stare at Draco's lips.

«So I guess it's not a good day for shopping after all,» he said.

«Oh?» smirked Malfoy. «So what is it a good day for then?» he asked.

«To know each other better,» replied Harry. «Come on.»

He was glad that he was driving an enchanted car or he would never have got them safely back to Grimmauld Place.

«Masters Harry and Draco are back so soon?» croaked Kreacher in displeasure when they stumbled through the door, snogging each other senseless. «Kreacher is not prepared dinner yet.»

«Don't worry, Kreacher,» gasped Harry, untangling himself from Draco's embrace long enough to see where they were going; «Masters Harry and Draco will be quite busy for some time. We'll come downstairs when we're ready!» With these words Harry dragged Draco upstairs.

If Harry wasn't in such a frenzy to get Draco inside of him he would have probably given due credit to Draco's considerate and solicitous manner. By the time they had reached his bedroom Harry was past any rational thought. He was only vaguely aware that Draco had carefully guided him towards the bed to prevent him from falling on his back. He did pay more attention when Draco stalled his frantic attempts to undress.

«What — ?» he asked, dazed, his breathing loud and heavy. «I haven't had sex in a long time but I'm pretty sure that undressing is still an important part of the process.»

«Let me,» said Draco softly but firmly.

«Oh.» Harry's breath hitched and the heat reached as far as his hairline. «OK.»

The thought that Draco would actually undress him rather than just see him naked seemed to excite and fluster Harry to an equal degree. But his arousal gave him no room for hesitation or embarrassment. Draco proceeded to take his time (which was quite unfortunate in Harry's present state), not so much undressing but unwrapping him as though he was a fragile, precious and the most coveted of presents — carefully and slowly, not touching or even brushing his skin. Perhaps, it was a good thing. Harry's heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy, while his whole body was vibrating with tremors of anticipation, his cock straining painfully against his pants.

«Can you leave the 'taking your time' part for now?» he gritted out when he thought he could no longer bear what must have been deliberate torture, his hands balled into fists. «I swear I won't last much longer if you keep going like that.»

Draco just smirked and continued to slowly take off his clothes with such a steamy look on his face Harry's eyes began to water. «Draco, please...» he pleaded in a hoarse whisper. «Please, please, please... just fuck me already...» Harry wriggled his hips, not caring how needy and slutty he looked and sounded at that moment.

This, at last, seemed to effect Draco like a spell. His pupils dilated and his breath quickened. He sucked in a breath and with two quick motions of his wand diveseted both Harry and himself of clothing. Cool air hit Harry's fevered skin and his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at the sight of Draco's naked body. He was pale and skinny and Harry thought that he had never seen anyone more attractive. It had been too long... He could feel his cock straining for release but his pregnant belly (that seemed huge to him in the context) obscured the view. But Harry's present state of near explosion didn't give him much time to experience any embarrassment on account of his current shape.

Draco didn't seem to mind. In fact, his eyes appeared to be drawn to Harry's protruding abdomen stretched tightly around their child; from what Harry could make out of his expression Draco was hungrily feasting on the sight before him. Harry drew in a shuddering breath and slightly lifted himself up, spurring Draco into action. Draco quickly put a pillow under Harry's back and hoisted his legs up, resting them on his shoulders, leaned forward and positioned his cock at Harry's quivering entrance. Harry began to hypervantilate. He was afraid that he would come any moment now just thinking about Draco's cock moving inside of him. So when Draco breached his opening and began his slow penetration Harry's body began to thrash as though he was in convulsions.

«Don't — you — fucking — coddle — me — Malfoy,» he hissed furiously. «We can take it nice and slow next time. Now I just need you to fuck me.»

Draco snarled and pressed him into the bed.

«Don't you order me around, Potter,» he said and drove into him in one swift motion. Harry saw stars. The next moment, Draco angled himself so that he hit Harry's prostate. Harry screamed and came.

«Oh, fuck...»

In the postcoital haze of bliss, tinged with acute embarrassment, Harry hid his flaming face in the crook of Draco's neck.

«It's the pregnancy thing,» he muttered.

«Of course, it is,» replied Draco soothingly, cupping one of Harry's buttocks with one hand and dipping a teasing finger into his semen-covered cleft. Harry groaned as his body began to tremble again.

Later that day, after another shag session, during which Harry proved to Draco that he could match him and not come the moment Draco's cock hit his prostate the very first time, they had dinner and then enjoyed some relaxing time in the drawing-room, just sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing lazy kisses and prolonging the moment of their forthcoming parting.

Harry was most reluctant to bid Draco good-bye but he knew that Ron and Hermione would swoop down on him as soon as they learned about their little escapade in Diagon Alley — he had no doubt that the sensational nature of their appearance there earlier today would warrant a special issue of the Evening Prophet — and he wanted to talk to them alone first. Harry knew that they wouldn't be happy with such a speedy development and would probably take offence at the fact that he had completely ignored their wishes when making up his mind about Draco's presence in his life and he would rather avoid an altercation that, he was sure, would be an inevitable outcome. Harry expected that the next week or more of his life would be rife with turmoil. But he also knew that he finally had a chance at having a real family and he would not give it up just because everybody else was of the opinion that Draco Malfoy was the least likely candidate for the part.

Not breaking their kiss, Harry took Draco's hand and put it on his belly. The familiar jolt of joyful recognition coming from their child was all that mattered.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this is it... Thank you all for reading! Sorry for any mistakes or inconsistencies within the story. If you wish to leave some feedback, now would be a great time)))


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